


The Vow of Silence

by Chaouen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Escape, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Politics, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Post - A Storm of Swords, Post-Quiet Isle, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tension, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-06 15:59:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 73,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaouen/pseuds/Chaouen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some people who are only in each other's lives for a short period of time - but when together, touch something deep within the other that leave them forever changed.  When Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane met again years after the Battle of Blackwater, an overwhelming spark ignited between them, against which both were unable to fight.</p><p>Canon compliant, set after AFFC (Post Quiet Isle).<br/>** COMPLETE **</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Gravedigger

**Author's Note:**

> **AUTHOR NOTES:**
> 
>   * The main characters and places of this story belong to G. R. R. Martin.
> 

>   * This story has been beta-edited by the lovely [Ladycyprus](http://ladycyprus.tumblr.com/) and [KBelle1](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4971970/)
> 

>   * Sansa is 18 and Sandor is 30.
> 

>   * Cover image by [Martina Cecilia](http://martinacecilia.deviantart.com/) specially for this story.
> 

>   * You can follow me on tumblr; my username is [chaouenmadrid](http://chaouenmadrid.tumblr.com/)
> 

>   * Comments and kudos are very much appreciated! :)
> 

> 
>  
> 
>  

 

_"There are some people who are only in each other's lives for a short period of time - but when together, touch something deep within the other that leave them forever changed.  When Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane met again years after the Battle of Blackwater, an overwhelming spark ignited between them, against which both were unable to fight."_

_\- Maester Clydas, 294 AL._ _The Wall -_

 

 

**The Gravedigger**

* * *

He'd been watching her for a while from a distance. She was kneeling at the foot of one of the many graves in the cemetery; most of which he had dug without remembering for who. She was wrapped in a grey cloak that concealed her face. The color of her hair was wrong, but he well knew the curve of her neck, and the gentle shape of her shoulders, now cleared of hair by a breath of wind.  He saw them frequently when he closed the eyes at the end of the day.

His mind spun with unresolved questions: What in the seven hells was she doing at the bloody Isle? Where had she been hiding all this time? How had she managed to avoid capture by the Gold Cloaks, with a warrant for regicide on her head, she who used to be so fragile, so scared? How had she ended in his hidden corner of earth, long ago forgotten by the gods?  Why, of all the damned places in Westeros, did she end up where he was?

It was meant to be a day like any other- rising with the sun, carrying water, chopping wood, repairing houses, tending Stranger, harvesting the garden, eating the meager stew prepared by the cook, digging in the cemetery and collapsing exhausted in his cell every evening. He might have shared a flagon of wine in silence with Elder Brother. Maybe he'd dream about her again. Instead, she was there, twisting his peaceful routine.

The commotion had begun before lunch. He had heard the monks who were allowed to speak whispering among themselves about the visit of two women who had arrived on horseback that morning.  On occasion women came to the Quiet Isle looking for Elder Brother's help with a birth or to heal a disease. They were often penniless farmers, girls raped by soldiers or an elderly woman reluctant to admit that her hour had come. He had never been interested in them. His interest was in working, digging, eating and sleeping. These two women were different, as everybody was nervous, looking at the barracks where they had met with Elder Brother. That same feeling of anxiety invaded him upon Elder Brother’s summons.

Before entering his cell he saw a woman almost as big as himself- well armed, ugly and vaguely familiar looking. He slipped inside and met the eyes of the Elder Brother, who looked at him with a mix of worry and curiosity. He knew with one look that this meeting was going to change everything.

"You may have noticed the women that arrived this morning” Elder Brother began, “I know one of them, the tall one. She visited us about a year ago with tales that she was looking for her younger sister. She also wanted to kill the Hound, but as we know the Hound died by the Trident long ago.  Now she returns with the missing sister- who doesn't looks like her- because the girl wants to visit the Hound’s grave.” The smart man’s eyes pierced him then, ”I sent her to the cemetery; to that first grave you dug. She must be there already. I thought you'd like to know."

So there she was, a ghostly presence kneeling in front of the pile soil that she had been told was the grave she was looking for. The anonymous corpse would not deserve her prayers. Truth be told, the Hound did not deserve them either and he certainly would have scoffed at them.

He enjoyed the pleasure of watching her a little longer, trying to accept that her figure was not a figment of his imagination. Then she rose to leave. It was cold and the wind blew strongly, entangling her hair.

"Little bird, what are you doing here?"

His voice sounded strange after many months of silence. The words came out rough, harder than he'd have liked. He reflected that in the past he had used a similar tone when he spoke to her and felt a sting of regret at the thought. She turned to him and perhaps his eyes betrayed him, as he saw a faint smile trace her lips.

"I was told the Hound was dead, and I've come to see his grave."

"Why?"

"I have not forgotten who saved my life… and I'm probably the only one in the Seven Kingdoms to mourn his death."

Her voice was the same, the contour of her face, her blue eyes… but somehow she wasn't who he remembered every night. This little bird was a woman grown; taller, with fuller breasts, a woman’s curves, and she looked him straight in the eye. She wasn’t frightened to find him there, suddenly emerged from the dead, and he was suddenly consumed with longing. _Why, of all the places you could fly you had to come here, to find the grave of a man who was dead to the rest of the world? What the hell do you want of me, girl?_  He wanted to shout. Instead, he approached her, stopping too close. A faint flick of her eyes told him she noticed his limp, embarrassing him like a child.

"You've grown up, girl"

She nodded with a sigh "Too much"

Unexpectedly, she raised her hand to take off his hood. He felt her soft hand touching his scarred face, caressing the burnt flesh.  A trail of fire shot through every one of his scars at her trembling touch. She looked into his eyes, quiet and fearless, and with that new look that made him shiver. Fearing that she would fly away, he grabbed her wrist in a clumsy attempt to keep her close just a moment longer. Losing her once had been almost unbearable; he had not the strength to endure it a second time. With surprise that his crude gesture failed to illicit rejection or disgust, his mind became consumed with the thought.  He pulled her to him, burying her in his arms, and as he held her slim body in his embrace, the rest of the world stood still.

He nuzzled his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of forest, autumn grass and a slight trace of something purely feminine. The touch of her palms on his chest made him feel as if his heart would burst.  He fought the urge to mock her as he did before.  He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and run away with her; to send to the seven hells Elder Brother and the monks, all gods known or unknown, old or new; and ride with her to the woods, defeated and defenseless, to get lost between her legs and make her his forever. He pulled her closer, enraptured by her and suddenly surprised that she was with him still. He felt how she clutched her fingers at his chest and murmured "Thank you".

It had been a long time since he had last held a sword, but at that moment, he felt an overwhelming urge to kill. Kill Lannisters, Freys, Kingsguard; anyone who had ever hurt her. He would condemn to death anyone who dared to touch a hair on her head and to cut the tongues from all who dared speak her name. He would be the one to keep her from danger, if she would give him the chance; because this time he knew he could really keep her safe. 

He'd broken his vow of silence in speaking to her, but Elder Brother knew the truth of it. His mouth twisted into a smile at the thought as he whispered against her crown, “Little bird”

 

* * *

**  
**

He stayed on the hill long after she was gone. He was shivering, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold wind or from the traces of her scent that lingered after their embrace.  After his life of nightmares, that evening had a dream-like quality, but it was someone else’s dream, someone worthy; not a dream belonging to one who had once worn a hound’s helm.

He heard steps approaching from behind and suddenly the Elder Brother was next to him. They remained in silence for a few minutes, listening to the sound of the wind blowing.

“Maybe you were wrong”, Elder Brother finally said, “The Hound must have done something right, because it seems at least one person did care for him.” 

Sandor was still reeling and at a loss for words. This was unfathomable.  Elder Brother, however, knew damned well how to read people.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked directly.

Sandor shrugged. “Don’t know. Follow her, if she lets me. Protect her, fight again. Die sooner than later by a stinky road.”

“Well, she’s really a reason worth dying for.”

He glimpsed Elder Brother’s confident smile out of the corner of his eye and held back a curse. Elder Brother knew him well. The man had tended his fever and was there when he had deliriously poured out his heart on those first days on the Isle. Her name had come up several times between blasphemies, whimpers and remorse, almost as much as his brother’s. First, the man had listened, then he had talked, and for the first time in years, the Hound’s soul had felt some ease. That had been before, when he believed she was lost to him, another pretty thing vanished among the horrors of the world. Now everything had changed; she was there, looking at him in that bloody new way, as if she was glad he was still alive. _Seven hells, I must be raving mad again._

Elder Brother gestured for him to follow and they walked again down the hill to prepare the dinner for the monks, as he had done so many days before.

 


	2. Alayne

It was late when she walked down the hill, leaving him standing there alone.  Brienne would be worried about her long absence.  Along the path, she passed Elder Brother, who was walking towards the cemetery. The idea of him spying on them made her feel embarrassed and uncomfortable.

“How did it go, girl? Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes, I did, thank you Brother,” she answered avoiding his gaze.  She was certain she couldn’t bear it. She could still feel his eyes at her back when she began to walk again, making her feel guilty without reason.

Brienne was waiting for her next to the small house the monks had prepared for them.

“My lady, are you okay? You were gone a long time; I was beginning to worry.”

“I’m fine. I’m just tired; it’s been a long day…”

“Yes, it has”. Brienne also looked very tired, although she was stronger than any woman she had ever met.

“Brienne, I…” she bit her lower lip, “I wonder if we could stay here, on the Quiet Isle for a few days. We need to rest and think about what to do next, and no one would look for Petyr’s bastard daughter here”.

The woman frowned and gave her a doubtful looks.

“I think we should keep moving.   Jaime Lannister sent me to find and protect you. I’m sure he will help us from now on”.

“I will never, ever go to him.  Never! The Lannisters destroyed my family; they plotted to murder my father and my brother. They held me hostage, let Joffrey beat me.  They forced me to marry Tyrion. Jaime Lannister himself killed Jory, my father’s captain of guard. Why would you want to take me back to them?”

“Jaime isn’t the man he once was” she tried to explain, “He has changed; he wants to keep the promise he made to your lady mother and help you.”

“I’m sorry Brienne, I do not trust him. Please, tell the Elder Brother we’ll pay him for the accommodation. I took some money and jewels from the Eyrie. Please…“

Brienne sighed defeated, “Alright, I’ll talk to him. But first we have dinner.  I’m starving!” She smiled and put her arm protectively around Sansa’s shoulders.

The Maid of Tarth was dazzled by Jaime Lannister.  Brienne didn’t know what the Lannisters were capable of, nor what Alayne had endured while in their custody. Alayne could not blame her, though, only those who had lived a nightmare knew what a monster looked like.  Brienne was a good person, more so than any she had known for a long time. Alayne had like her since the first time they met. Brienne of Tarth had arrived at the Vale of Arryn asking for a meeting with Petyr Baelish on a cold morning ten days ago. Despite her unique appearance, she had liked her almost immediately. She looked like a man and even wore armor, though her warmth and gentleness were purely feminine. The woman had peeked at her suspiciously while she spoke with Littlefinger, and had taken the first opportunity she had to talk to her alone. Without saying aloud her real name, she talked about how she had sworn and oath to Lady Catelyn Stark to protect her daughters and how she’ll do anything to help her if she was willing to leave with her. Alayne saw trustworthiness in Brienne’s big beautiful blue eyes.  The affection with which she spoke of her mother and Alayne’s instincts told her to agree to her proposal. That same night she had taken her best cloak and a second gown, some coins and jewels from her aunt Lysa and under the cover of night, they had fled the keep.

They rode for hours until Brienne let the horses rest. That first night she told her about her quest and how hard it had been to find Lady Stark’s daughter. It was then that she learned about the Hound and her sister Arya. Brienne had heard the news at the Quiet Isle, where a man called the Elder Brother claimed he’d buried the Hound himself. It seemed impossible to find Arya yet knowing her sister was alive comforted her in some way, and at least she knew for sure where to find the Hound, even if it was too late. At first Brienne didn’t understand her need to see him and tried to dissuade her, but she quickly realized the Quiet Isle was a place as safe any other, and finally she agreed. She didn’t understand herself either, but something strong pushed her to travel there, even if it was wrong. She was more scared than ever, but she had also the intuition that she was the only person who thought of him after he vanished the night of the Blackwater Bay Battle.  She also was certain that no one else apart from her would pay respects to the grave of the man who once saved her life.

So there they had traveled, to pray over a ghost’s grave just to find out dead men could be resurrected. The man was as impressive as she remembered and his voice was still as hard as steel but his eyes… those eyes and the way he looked at her didn’t scare her anymore. She had changed and so had him, and somehow fate had made that their paths crossed again. Although she still needed to assimilate what had happened today and the complexity of feelings that were crossing her mind; she felt oddly alive.

She finally returned the smile to Brienne, and they began to walk to the monk’s main hall. She realized was hungry too.

 

* * *

 

Alayne and Brienne took the last seats at the large dining table and waited for the novices to serve the dinner. The slowness of the monk’s ritual meal exasperated her. The beef and carrot stew was tasteless and dinner went by in silence. Sansa watched the tall man moving slowly between seats, limping a bit. His massive figure stood above the rest. He wore a brown rough habit and covered his face with a hood, but even if she hadn’t seen his face earlier she would have recognized the man and those heavy hands anywhere. Although he never once looked toward where they were sitting, she peeked at him from time to time. It was weird to see him so helpful and quiet, without his armor, and she realized she liked the warrior better than the monk.

When dinner was over Brienne left to talk to the Elder Brother as she had promised. Sansa remained at the table waiting for her until all the men had left the room. When Brienne returned some minutes later, they left the hall together.

“He agreed,” she told her, “We can stay for a few days with the condition that we do not disturb the usual course of their routine. I think it’s fair.”

It was more than fair; it was all she needed for the moment. Outside was already cold; the sun was low and dyed the landscape in a soft reddish color.

“Brienne, I need some fresh air, I’d like to go for a walk,” she told her.

“Fine, I’ll go with you”

“No, please. I need to be alone. I-I need to think…”

It was obvious she disagreed, but she let her go anyway and Sansa quickly walked away before she changed her mind.

It didn’t take Alayne long to make him out in the distance, sitting on a stone bench next to an old cabin. His head was uncovered now and he was drinking a cup of wine. She reached him and stood until he made a gesture with his head inviting her to sit next to him. There were many things boiling in her mind and plenty of questions she could ask him, but she didn’t want to bother him and felt comfortable just sitting there, watching the sunset and taking a sip of wine when he offered.

“What happened to your hair?” he growled suddenly. “I like it better before.”

The comment was so unexpected she couldn’t help but look at him and smile, “Yes, me too. It’s… a long story“

He drank again and she wrapped up tight her cloak. It was almost dark and she felt very tired. Instinctively she leaned against his shoulder and closed her eyes until a deep sleep overcame her.

 


	3. Sandor

 

It was late, dark and cold, but the girl rested against him as calmly as if she was sleeping on a feather bed. She was so close he smelled her scent again and could even tangle his big fingers into her hair if he wanted. There wasn’t enough wine in the entire Isle for him to bear the events of that day. _Hope none of the gossip monks saw us or we’ll be fucked up_ , he thought. Though  they already were. There was no need to ask; he guessed she was fleeing from somewhere or someone as awful as Kings Landing. Maybe they had that in common; the necessity to run away from everything. Still, her presence made him feel things he didn't know how to deal with yet.

He shook her as gently as he could to wake her up, but she was breathing deeply and didn’t move, so he put the hood on again, lifted her up and held her between his arms to take her to her cabin. The little bird was light as a child for him and she rested her forehead against his chest all the way back.

The ugly woman that accompanied her was sitting outdoors, waiting for her.  She rose alerted as soon as she saw them.

“What had happened!? What have you done to her?!” she cried.

“Shut up, woman!” he growled, “she’s just fallen asleep.”

He opened the front door with a kick and laid her on the straw cot. The woman didn’t calm until she checked the girl was all right, but it seemed that wasn’t enough for her.

“Who are you? Why was she with you so late?” she asked suspicious.

He wasn’t in the mood for talking to her any longer, so he turned around and left the room without saying a word, leaving her there with her questions hanging from her ugly lips.

Once in his own cabin, he took off the habit and the tunic, threw them to a corner and poured a pitcher of fresh water over his head to wash.

He realized he had not felt so strong and full of life since he fled Kings Landing. His leg had healed better than he had expected and while his body was crisscrossed with thousands of scars, it was still muscular and strong.  He was still masterful with the heaviest of swords, and he could still kill a man bare handed. His armor and the sword he wore when the Elder Brother found him was still kept in a rucksack under his bed.  He took them and touched them carefully for the first time since he came there, so long ago. The sword fitted perfectly in his hand, like a natural extension of his arm. He turned his wrist and shook it from side to side; it felt good.  Fighting was what he did best since he was twelve, and it was all he could offer her; his strength and a sword; almost nothing compared to what high Lords and bloody knights had to offer, but for now it was enough to keep her safe.

He lay on the bed and his body left a wet silhouette on the sheet. He wasn’t that old yet, he would fight for her if she so wanted. As shitty life as his life had been, it was worth staying alive just to see the day the little bird finally needed him.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picset made by wajuuniverse ^^


	4. Sansa / Sandor

 

Sansa spent most of the following day praying at the little Septry of the Isle. Although she didn’t intend to pray for so long, she was trying to elude Brienne as much as she could. The woman suspected something and had asked too many questions when they woke that morning. She had told her that a tall monk had carried her to the cabin last night and Sansa was certain she had blushed when Brienne asked her who he was. Sansa didn’t know what to answer and wasn’t sure if it was safe to tell her about him yet. Therefore, she had had a quick breakfast and mumbled an excuse about praying to the Mother, just to be on her own.

Sansa had much to think about and time passed slowly enough at the Septry to try to put in order her mind. Why was he living there as a simple novice? Would he still help her, as he once promised? He wasn’t the same man, of that she was sure, and knowing he was alive comforted her somehow, but there were still too many unanswered questions about him, making her mind spin. In spite of this she was certain that his presence elicited something nameless but strong inside of her when he was nearby.

Long hours had passed when Brienne finally sought her to have dinner at the Hall. She hadn’t seen him during the day, but there he was again, helping with the meal as the previous night. Another silent dinner went by during which Brienne glanced at him from time to time; seeking answers to something she couldn’t still understand.

When they were done, Sansa slipped out as soon as she could and walked to the stone bench once more. This time she was early and had to wait until Sandor Clegane came limping a bit to rest there. He simply sat next to her without saying a word.

“Your leg…” she dared to say.

He shrugged, “A fight at an inn. I was too drunk. It’s fine now.”

He didn’t seem worried about it and she didn’t know what else to say, so she let it be. The sun hid some minutes later as they kept a silence that Sansa found comfortable. It was better between them now, better than in Kings Landing, when he was drunk and talked to her so harshly, with his eyes always full of anger.

“I heard you married the Imp”, he asked in his usual growling tone while staring at the trees in the distance.

 _Is he annoyed by it or is he just trying to mock me again?_ she wondered. She couldn’t read his expression. Sansa thought about her wedding day and she realized it was as if it had happened to another person in another life. Tyrion married a scared girl, and now she was a woman trying to find her own path. She finally looked at him; his good side faced her.

“They forced me to, I had no choice”, she explained. Clegane turned to her and she held his gaze. “But I didn’t kneel at the ceremony. We didn’t have a proper bedding and he didn’t touch me on our wedding night, or after.  I left him the day Joffrey died.” She added, more to herself than to him.

A hint of surprise came up to his eyes, “Good for you, girl. Bugger that bloody dwarf!” he exclaimed, and he laughed of pleasure for the first time since she knew him; his laugh was like a bark; dark and low.

“It’s late now, you better go to sleep. I’ll take you”. They rose and he put a heavy hand on her shoulder as they walked to her cabin, a faint reminder of times long past when the Hound escorted her at the Red Keep.

 

* * *

 

The next day he only caught glimpses of the girl in the distance, but that was for the best. He by no means wanted anybody noticing them during daylight. He worked harder than ever, chopping wood until his hands burned and he sweated like a pig, and then he spent some time caring for Stranger. Fortunately none of the monks had paid attention to him or tried to speak with him; even the Elder Brother had left him be.

Afternoon came and another silent dinner went by. He helped as usual with the preparations and then walked to his cabin to spend the remains of the day sitting on his bench. She was already there, so little in her thick cloak, sitting straight and graceful, as if waiting for him was the most natural thing in the world. He could see a glint of relief in her eyes when their eyes meet. Sandor sat next to her, sighted heavily and looked at the sky. It was pleasant to be there, quiet, feeling her close to him. Although there was something he still needed to know.

“How did you manage to escape the Red Keep?” he asked.

“Petyr Baelish and Ser Dontos helped me to leave Kings Landing the day Joffrey and Margaery were getting married”

“A brothel’s owner and a drunken fool? Holy shit! How lowly knights had fallen if they were your only chance. Littlefinger...” he smacked his lips, “that bastard hasn’t done anything selflessly in his whole fucking life. What did he want from you?”

Sansa shrugged “The same as everybody else: to marry me to someone of his convenience. He said he did it for me, but he only wanted to get Winterfell.”

“And didn’t you want to marry a young shinning knight? I though pretty little birds like you dream about having a nice wedding with a handsome boy as in the songs. Maybe he would have been an improvement from the Imp!” he mocked her.

The girl looked at him so upset that he regretted his words as soon as they got out of his mouth.

“Songs are all a lie and so are true knights. Nobody really cared about me. When they look at me, they don’t see me but just a way to get Winterfell. But I’ll never marry again, never. Winterfell is of the Starks, or it’ll be for no one.”

He stared deeply into her blue eyes, as if it was the first time, and maybe it really was. When did the child who dreamt about travelling to the South die, he wondered? When did the scared girl he met in Kings Landing, one who couldn’t even look at him in the eye, disappear; reappearing as the woman who was before him now? Was it during the beatings of the Kingsguard? Mayhaps it happened when he left her alone that terrible night of the Battle of the Blackwater and she was married to the Imp; or mayhaps when Littlefinger tried to manipulate her.  She was a woman grown now; a woman who had traveled to the Isle to pray for the Hound when she thought he was dead.  A woman who looked at his face, the same as she’d look at any other.

She was watching the sunset now, thoughtful and calm and he lusted for her so desperately it took all his self-control and strength not to lay her down right there and fuck her until the end of time.

“Where are you going to go now?” he asked instead.

“I don’t know yet… I’ve been thinking about it but… I have no family or home to return to now…”

He awkwardly patted her shoulder because there wasn’t anything he could say and she slowly eased toward him until his arm rounded her shoulders, almost embracing her.

The girl was trembling; “I’m scared,” she confessed in a whisper.

“We’ll think of something, little bird”, he whispered against the crown of her head.

A small grin spread on her lips and she pressed closer to him, making his muscles tighten at her contact. He had long forgotten the last time he had a woman - a whore, most likely - in his arms, but that moment was different from anything he had every experienced.

By the time the sun set, there was already plan rising his mind. 

 

 


	5. Brienne / Sansa

She had gone a long, hard way to find Sansa Stark, the daughter of Lady Catelyn. So long, that she had almost lost all faith in her quest. Finally she had found her, helped her to flee the Vale of Arryn and run with her as far as possible from Petyr Baelish. Everything Brienne had gone through was for Lady Catelyn, for Jaime and for Sansa. For that reason she couldn’t understand why the girl was now keeping secrets from her.

She was so tired… tired of fighting, tired of the war, tired of being on the road. She missed Renly and her father.  It’d been so long since she left her beautiful Island of Tarth she couldn’t even remember the color of its water. Above all, more than anyone, she missed Jaime; she’d give anything to see him again. She desperately needed him to listen to her and she desperately needed his comfort. He was the only person she could be confident with.

Sansa’s wish to travel to the Quiet Isle when she heard news of the Hound’s death was beyond her understanding. Why would a highborn Lady like her want to visit the grave of such monster? Sansa didn’t give her an explanation, but they rode there anyway. She could tolerate that although she didn’t truly understand her, but now something else was happening; her behavior had changed and after all they had been through, Brienne thought she had the right to know why.

That night Brienne decided to follow Sansa after dinner. She saw her sitting with that man watching the sunset.  Sitting very close to each other. Sansa seemed relaxed and calm. Everything was too weird.

She looked for the Elder Brother; she was sure the man knew more than he told.

“It’s fine” he had simply said, “They have wounds that even I can’t heal”.

 “Wounds?”Brienne frowned, “What kind of wounds are you talking about?”

“Please, leave them be and trust me, Brienne. They may need each other,” he just added.

His words confused her even more until a tiny strange idea began to grow in her mind. While she waited for Sansa at their cabin, Brienne wondered if her life wasn’t about to change one more time.

 

 

When they arrived to the cabin, Brienne was outdoors staring at them so intently that Sansa avoided her gaze.

“You, monk!” she shouted. “Take off that hood!”

 “Brienne, this is not polite of you…” Sansa got to mutter.

“I want to see your  face, now!” Brienne commanded oblivious to Sansa’s words.

“Don’t worry, girl. I’m tired of wearing it”, said the man as he lifted back his hood. “So, do you like what you see wench?”

They stared at each other for a tense moment.

“So you’re back from the grave, Hound.” Brienne claimed angrily. “And you knew it”, she accused Sansa. There was disappointment in her eyes.

“No, I didn’t. I thought he was dead, as you told me…”

“But you knew who he was when you saw him”. Sansa’s mouth was too dry to speak. “And what were you planning to do with her, Ser? Selling her to the Queen with hopes she would give you back your white cloak?”

Clegane spat on the ground, “Spare me your _Ser’s_ wench and stop saying nonsense!”

“Or perhaps you were trying to kidnap her, as you did with her little sister, Lady Arya. What have you done with her?” she pressed on.

“Lady Arya? Ha!” he laughed, “You mean the bitch wolf… Last time I saw her I was dying and she was well alive. I guess she’s still wandering somewhere by the Trident. She knows how to take care of herself better than you do. Did you know she killed a boy?”

“Stop lying, dog, or I’ll close your burned mouth with my sword!”

Sansa stepped in front of her when she tried to get her sword. “No! Brienne, please, stop!”

“Now you defend him?” there was pain in her voice, “Why? He is a monster, Sansa. He kidnapped your sister!”

“I’m the monster? Have you ever taken a good look at your face, woman?” Clegane mocked.

Sansa looked at him sadly and realized that maybe there were things that the man could never change. “Please, go.” she asked him. Sandor looked fiercely to Brienne, but finally he left leaving the two of them alone.

Sansa walked into the cabin and sat on the cot. Brienne was so angry that Sansa feared to lose her only friend.

“I hope you have a good explanation for that, Sansa. I can’t understand what you are doing!”

She wasn’t sure what to tell her. “Brienne, I know it’s weird for you, as it is for me as well. I thought he was dead. Last time I saw him was at Kings Landing, the night of the battle,” she said.

“You told me you didn’t want to have anything to do with the Lannisters and now you lie to me and you talk to him as if he wasn’t one of their men. He’s a killer and a kidnapper!”

“I’m well aware of the kind of man he is and what he has done, but you’ve seen him... He doesn’t work for the Lannisters anymore...” Sansa hesitated, “I know I can’t ask you to understand it, but he saved my life during the riot of Kings Landing and somehow he tried to help me when I was hostage there. I haven’t forgotten that yet.”

Brienne was so astonished she had to sit too. “My lady, the man is dangerous. You can’t trust him; it isn’t safe for you to be near him. He could take you to the Red Keep again, or to the Eyrie or… maybe do something worse!”

Sansa took her hands and talk to her as softly as she could; “You said Jaime Lannister had changed, that he sent you in a quest to find me to keep the promise he made to my lady mother. Maybe the Hound has also changed… Brienne, I’d like to think there is still a little hope for me if such a great warriors like you three want to help me.”

Brienne frowned and started to say something, but Sansa spoke before she could; “He won’t hurt me,I know it. Please, trust me. You have helped me so much so far… I don’t want us to fight, I need you.”

“I don’t know what to think Sansa, I… I guess we better try to rest and we’ll talk tomorrow”

Finally they lay down on their cots, but out of the corner of her eye, Sansa saw how she kept her precious Valyrian sword close to her.

She lay staring at the ceiling for a long time before tossing right and left, then settling once again to stare at the ceiling. The hours passed and sleep didn’t come to her, uneasy and nervous as she was. Next to her, Brienne breathed heavily, deeply asleep. Sansa got out of the bed and left the cabin trying not to make noise. The fresh air cleared her head. Although it was late and dark, she began to walk and wandered around the Isle for a long time, until she found herself in front of Sandor Clegane’s cabin. She sat on the old bench they had shared some hours before. It was cold so she wrapped up in her cloak, put her arms around her legs and lay her forehead on her knees, where she finally drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you don't mind Brienne's POV. I love her character so much that I needed to hear her thoughts in my story!  
> Picset by my friend wajuuniverse!


	6. Sandor

He woke up very early that morning. As usual, the recurring nightmares hadn’t allowed him rest properly, so he took the pitcher to leave for some fresh water before the routine of the day began. The sun was about to arise in the sky and the cold air felt good on his bare chest. He enjoyed that moment of the day, when nobody was still awake and the Isle was calm and silent.

He’d just taken a few steps when he noticed a dark shape lying next to the wall of the cabin.

“Seven hells!” he growled

The girl woke up rubbing her sleepy eyes.

 “Oh, I’m so sorry! I- I didn’t want to bother you; I just… couldn’t sleep…” She looked at him and blushed like an apple before she looked away again.

“What happen to you, girl? Haven’t you see a bare man before? I thought you were married for some time!”

“I’m sorry… it’s your arm… is burned too!”

“Stop saying sorry. Yes, the bloody Berric Dondarrion did that. But I killed him, or at least that was what I though...”

It looked like she didn’t want to look at him anymore so he came in and put on a clean tunic. He took also some bread and cheese he kept there and left to sit outside.

“Are you hungry?” She nodded and they ate in silence for a while.

“I can’t blame you; I couldn’t sleep either if I had to sleep next to such an ugly woman”, he said laughing with his mouth full of bread.

“Don’t mock at her! Brienne is nice with me and brave. She has helped me so much… if it wasn’t for her I’d still be with Littlefinger or marrying Harry the Heir. She is just worried for me.”

He snorted. He didn’t like her at all. The woman was like some other silly knights he’d met in his life, with their stupid oaths and their useless pride. Only she had breasts.

“And actually she is my only friend”, the girl said.

“Well, she’s not. There’re still people you can trust,” he said. She looked at him frowning, “You still have a bastard brother at the Wall, haven’t you?”

“Jon. I’ve heard he is now the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch”

“Well, best for you. The Night’s Watch takes no part in the battles of the realm, they say. Probably he would help you; you are his only family left”

“I haven’t seen him for so long… I don’t know if he’d help me if I asked for his protection. And the Wall is too far, I’ll never get to get there. Petyr and the Queen should be looking for me”.

“Your sister asked once me to take her with your brother. I didn’t, but I could do it for you now”.

The girl looked at him with a glaze of surprise and hope so intense he had to look away.

“I can’t ask you that. It’s dangerous, and I can’t pay you”

He shrugged, “Don’t fucking care. I’m tired of this shitty island. There isn’t enough wine, the food stinks and I can’t talk to anybody except you. I need some action before getting too old. It won’t be easy, it won’t be safe and you’ll have to do whatever I say without question. Wouldn’t you like to come back to the North, little bird?”

She grinned, deeply moved. He didn’t remember the last time he saw her smiling that way; probably never. She took his huge hand in hers and his whole body shook under the soft touching of her skin.

“Thank you, Sandor Clegane. I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but you have my word that I’ll return you this favor”.

“Save your words for when we get alive at the Wall, though I’m not so sure of that. Also, I don’t want your new friend coming, it isn’t safe. I’m sure her fucking pride would ruin the little chances we have”

The girl looked at him seriously; “She won’t come, I promise.”

She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes to the morning sun. She was still smiling when it dawned and a new day began. Her hair shone in the daylight. He repressed the instinct of clasping her hand into his fingers and caressed it. That thought made him feel silly though he didn’t remove his hand from under hers and enjoyed that so simple and unusual gesture to him.

When she opened her eyes again she was a bit blinded by the sunlight. “I need to talk to Brienne” she decided, “I have to tell her we’re leaving and I still need to ask her for one last favor.”

When she rose from the bench and she began to walk, he followed her like the dog he was.

 

* * *

 

They hadn't walked too far when they found her. She was looking for the girl, as worried as usual and got angry when she saw them together again.

“Where have you been, Sansa? You weren’t in your bed when I woke up. You should have warned me you were leaving!” she almost shouted.

“I’m so sorry, Brienne, I couldn’t sleep.”

 “I was very worried. What were you two doing?” Anger made her look even uglier, and he couldn’t help laughing at her.

“I’m fine. Please, let’s go our place. We need to talk.”

Once in the women’s cabin, he lay against a wall behind her. That was going to be funny.

“Brienne, I‘m leaving”, the girl said without further ado.

“You mean **we** are leaving”

“No, just me. Alone”

“Alone?” Brienne look at him and she understood. “He’s with going with you, isn’t he?

Sansa nodded.

“But why?? Where??” she was anxious, “Haven’t I helped you so far? Why are you leaving me now? It’s because of him? What has he promised you? Because I’m sure it’s all a lie!”

“He hasn’t promised me anything. He’s just trying to help me. We are going North but I can’t tell you exactly where”

“At least let me go with you.”

“I can’t, it isn’t safe for any of us” Sansa took her hands in hers, and spoke to her softly but firm. “Brienne, you’ve helped me more than anyone since I left my home. You are brave and strong, and I couldn’t get here without you. But now it’s time I made my own path. There is no safe place for me here and I don’t want to die in the South. I need to go to the North. I want to feel the snowflakes over my face again. I want to see Winterfell one last time, even if it’s in ruins. Or at least I have to die trying”

“But my lady, what will I say to Jaime? He trusted in me to find you.”

“You haven’t failed him. Go with him. I know how you care for him. Tell him I’m grateful for having sent you to find me and that I’m now in a safer place.” Now she took a breath “Tell him the truth about Joffrey’s death. Tell him Petyr Baelish and the Queen of Thorns poisoned him the day of his wedding. I told her he was a monster and she murdered him so Margaery hadn’t to live with him. Tyrion Lannister and I had nothing to do”.

Now he was as astonished as the woman was. So, that’s what really happened. But there was still more.

“Littlefinger also killed my aunt, Lysa Arryn. He threw her through the Gate of the Moon and blamed Marillion for it. And know he’s poisoning Robert Arryn so he can get all the power over the Vale.”

“How did you get to know that?”

“He talks too much when he drinks”, she simply said.

“Why are you telling me this now, Sansa?”

Her voice became somehow darker: “Because I need you to clean Sansa Stark’s name or I’ll be Alayne Stone for the rest of my life. I’m proud of being a Stark and I don’t want to die as the bastard daughter of Littlefinger. And because I want to see the downfall of Petyr Baelish. I hate him, Brienne. I hate him more than you could imagine…”

He tried to think about what kind of things could have Littlefinger done to earn her hatred. Not murdering Joffrey, that’s for sure, or killing an aunt or a cousin she hadn’t seen before in her whole life. It had to be something different and worse. Something she couldn’t bear. The man lived with her mother’s family when he was a boy. It was known he was in love with Catelyn Tully, and he’d heard at the Red Keep that he was her first lover. What if he… the thought made him feel so sick he would like to go to the Eyrie to kill him with his own hands.

It was all said then and there were many things to prepare before leaving.

“I’m leaving. Be ready before dawn, girl.” he said.

He felt the woman’s eyes piercing him when he left. She hated him but, who cared? Most of the people he’d met during his life has hated him too and most of them were already dead. He twitched his mouth into a wolfish smile and felt the fresh morning air. Well, he was still well alive and he was ready to hold a sword again.


	7. Sansa / Sandor

_We are really leaving!,_ Sansa realized nervous, but hopeful. She knew it was dangerous, but it was so good to be on the road, riding north again. Each step they made would take her further form the South, the Queen, and Littlefinger. Sandor Clegane was riding his black horse, a huge beast that only he was able to handle. She felt very small next to them on her male horse. It was a good mare; she had stolen it from the Eyrie the night she fled and wish she was strong enough to withstand the ride to the Wall.

It was very early when they left. She’d tried to rest well, but it had been impossible. However, at least she had everything ready before dawn as Sandor had asked her; she’d packed just a few clothes and some food. Her cloak was warm and it covered completely her hair. He said it was better that way, so nobody could suspect of her. He’d also covered his head with a hood and wore plate armor under his clothes, though, even completely covered with the cloak, the man looked more dangerous than any other man she had meet.

Last night, Brienne and she had hugged each other and they had cried in silence. Sansa wanted her to be happy—the woman deserved it for everything she had done for her. She would miss her, but their paths needed to split if she wanted to have a chance and that she could clean her name. _Maybe we would meet again when everything is over…_

Sandor Clegane looked almost glad to be traveling again. He’d packed his few belongings, some wine and as much food as his horse could carry. “Pack a thick blanket to sleep with at night, the ground will be hard,” he had told her, “Always ride next to me. Hide your face and your hair as much as you can. Don’t talk to anybody or they’ll know you are a highborn and will be fucked. Don’t ask silly questions. Don’t complain, I don’t want to hear your chirping around me. You understand?”

She’d nodded to all of his requests; she would do what he wanted, whatever was needed, to be safe. Then she’d told him about the coins and the jewels she’d taken from Petyr. “Smart little bird!”, he had said his with that wolfish smile of him, and somehow she had felt proud of herself.

Elder Brother had been the only one who had come to say goodbye to them. He’d hugged Brienne and tapped Clegane’s back. “Be careful, Sansa Stark, and don’t waste that man’s life. There’re too many people who’d like to see you two dead. Don’t give them the pleasure”, he’d only told to her.

Brienne had left them at the first crossroad after leaving the Quiet Isle and they had been riding alone since then. Clegane said they were going to avoid the main roads, sleep in the woods, and try to go unnoticed. He looked like he was in a good mood, though didn’t talk too much while riding.

That first day they only stopped for a while to have a small lunch, and then they continued riding until the afternoon. When they finally stopped, he looked for a place to light a fire and camp. She helped to unpack their things and then watched how he took care of the fire. She knew about his fear, though he lighted theirs skillfully, as if he had done it many times before.

“Elder Brother knew me. He called me by my name, do you think he’ll tell anyone?”, she finally asked him. It was cold and they had hardly spoken during the day.

“Don’t think so. He also knew me and didn’t tell you either when you two arrived at the Isle.”

He was right; maybe they could rely on him, she thought with relief. She watched him through the fire while they ate something for dinner. She could hardly see his burnt side with so little light, but he looked so ordinary now she thought herself a silly girl for being so scared by him in Kings Landing.

“What are you looking at?” he growled, “Does my face scare you more now that we are alone?”

“No! I mean…” she shrugged, “It’s just a face. Meat and bones, like many others. I don’t care about it anymore”

He clenched the jaw and lowered his gaze. She wondered if perhaps she was the first woman who looked at him without revulsion and the though made her feel sad for him.

“Eat something and try to rest as much as possible, girl. Tomorrow will be harder and I guess every inch of your body will ache after a whole night sleeping on the ground,” he growled again.

Sansa rolled up in her cloak and lay down over her blanket. Before falling asleep, she saw him leaning against a tree, watching thoughtful at the wood.

On the morrow, he shook her shoulder to wake her up. Her whole body really ached, but she didn’t say a word - she’d promised him she wouldn’t complain _. I’m a wolf, I can be strong_. Every step and every part of her body that ached placed her nearest home, she told herself.

 

_* * *_

 

Fresh air, the woods, Stranger and his sword - and the girl riding next to him. That’s all he needed. Sandor Clegane was certain that that was going to be his last ride because there was no way he could survive that crazy journey. He didn’t care a shit; it was better to die with a sword in his hand than lying on a bed. He planned to ride as far as possible from the main roads, avoiding meeting other people. If they managed to cross the Neck alive, they’d had more possibilities to get to the Wall. He thought no one would be looking for Sansa Stark or Alayne Stone so far from the Vale, and once they had reached the North, maybe she could meet some bannermen of her father who wanted to help her. 

It’d been three days since they left the Quiet Isle. Sansa didn’t talk too much and Sandor liked it that way. They spent the whole day ridding by the wood, trying to go unnoticed, and although it was cold at night and she had to sleep on the ground, she did not complain even once. The only thing that he couldn’t still bear was that way she looked at him when they stopped to eat or to camp. He wasn’t used to it yet and made him feel uneasy.

That day they had barely talked. She was thoughtful during the journey and he didn’t push for a conversation. She’d helped with the blankets and the fire and then they sat together to eat some hard cheese and dry meat. It was a poor dinner, but that was what all he could take from the monk’s kitchen and they ate it in silence.

The girl was staring at the fire when she suddenly said, “I remember everything, you know? At the moment I didn’t notice, but I finally did”.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“In Kings Landing, you told me everybody was a liar, and you were right. You told me what Joffrey expected of me, and that advice saved me a great deal of pain. At the tourney for Joffrey’s name day, I made up a stupid story to save Ser Dontos and you backed me up. You even lied for me the day we met at the serpentines stairs.”

He stared at her. The fire lighted her pale face and made her hair shone. “You never beat me; you even tried to stop it once and then you covered me with your cloak. When the mob attacked us, you were the only one who came back for me. I remember it every day.” – She raised her eyes from the campfire to look at him – “You saved my life that day, but you had already saved it many times before. Do not think I’m not aware of it.”

“Did I? Don’t recall”, he growled, looking away trying to avoid her eyes.

“But I do. You helped me; I was alone at the Lannister’s mercy and you were the only person who tried to help me.”

“Nonsenses, girl! They beat you anyway.”

He rose slowly to stoke the embers in the now dying fire, her words spinning in his mind. These weren’t the kind of things he was used to hearing about himself, and even less so from beautiful girls.

“Do you regret Joffrey’s dead? You were his sworn shied for years,” she still asked.

“No. He was mean since he was a child. He’d be an awful king. Did you see him die?”

“He choked on a piece of pie. He deserved it, it was a relief.”

He nodded. That was true. “Fine, enough chatter for tonight. Go to sleep”

She lay down over her blanket to rest, but he still stayed awake for a while. He remembered those days too. Saving her from the riot was one of the very few things of which he felt proud. But he also recalled how he put a knife on her throat to steal a song. He couldn’t stop the beatings either. He was drunk most of the times they talked and he used to scare her when he was around. Those weren’t good things and he had done them anyway, so how could she believe the Hound helped her? He didn’t know, but in some way, she knew he wasn’t a monster like his brother; somehow, she had really seen him through the Hound’s armor. That idea scared him. What was under a dog’s skin? Was it something worthy? It might be, because she had trusted him with her life and was in the middle of nowhere with him. _So Elder Brother was right,_ he thought. Maybe the Hound had done something right in his life.


	8. Sansa / Sandor

They had only been riding for a week, but Sansa was more tired than she had been in her whole life. Every part of her body ached and the inner part of her thighs was full of sores from so many hours of riding. She longed for a bath, but they weren’t close to a river or a lake. It was even harder than he’d told, but she was proud of herself because she hadn’t complained about anything. He’d said they should be about four days away from the Neck; the beginning of her beloved North.

That day Sandor stopped riding sooner than usual.

“We’ll camp here, in this clearing,” he said “I’ll try to hunt something before dusk; I’m tired of eating dry food”

He looked for a long stick and a knife and began to work. Sansa sat next to him while he worked; watching how his big hands shaped the stick into a spear, and she marveled that he was very good at working with his hands.

“I’ll go to the woods for a while. You stay here. I’ll come back as soon as I get our dinner,! He said before disappearing into the forest.

Sansa took their things from the horses and left them eating around the clearing. Since a few days ago, she had also helped to prepare the fire. Even though he did it every night without saying a word about it, she noticed it was something he wasn’t comfortable doing it. So that night she thought she would surprise him lighting it before he came back. She cleaned a portion of ground and then she used several rocks and stones to make a circle. Then she walked into the woods to pick any stick that may work as firewood. It was the first time that Sansa was completely alone since she left the Vale but she realized she wasn’t afraid because for the first time in years she felt she was making her own path, as she’d told Brienne. That was her time and she won’t let anyone to decide for her anymore. She had already collected some firewood when she heard the soft but unmistakable murmur of water flowing in the distance. She walked towards the sound and finally found it; a small creek with clear and fresh water. She was so glad to have found it that she left aside the wood and knelt to wash her face. The water was cold as ice but she enjoyed it anyway. She thought she would have to tell him, so he could wash, too.

Suddenly, she heard quick footsteps approaching from behind. She turned around thinking that Clegane had also found the creek when a dark figure pounced on her and knocked her down. It wasn’t him, she realized as fear crept through her; but a man who quickly covered her mouth tight with one hand while he tried to tear her clothes with the other.

“Ouh! let’s see what we have here... A pretty girl alone in the woods! He, he. Are you lost, girl?” he said while tearing her dress and trying to touch her. She tried to fight under him, squirming as much as she could, but she could do nothing against his heavy weight on top of her. “Easy, girl! Easy! I’m not going to harm you, hahahaha!” he laughed showing his black teeth. His mouth smelled of garlic. Sansa was almost breathless and in an act of desperation, she managed to inhale deeply, then she opened her lips and bit his hand as hard as she could. She tasted blood in her mouth, but she kept biting until he let go of her.

“You son of a bitch!!”

“Help!! Please!!” she screamed.

“Shut up, you fucking whore!” he said punching her hard in the face.

“ **SANDOR**!!”

They struggled again. He’d almost managed to rip off all of her clothes and was now trying to touch her between her legs. Suddenly the man’s body fell heavily over hers and it stopped moving. When she pushed it aside, she saw the hulking figure of Sandor Clegane looming over them. She hadn’t heard him coming, but there he was, a huge mass of deadly eyes and tensed muscled. His sword was completely covered in blood.

“You… you’ve killed him…” she muttered looking up at him from the ground.

He nodded and she began to shake, suddenly aware of what had just happened. Sandor bent down to pick her up in his arms. She buried her face in his neck while he carried her to the clearing again - she didn’t want him to see her mourn. “It’s over little bird, it’s over,” he was whispering as big silent tears dropped from her eyes.

He laid her gently next to the stone circle she’d done and knelt in front of her.

 “Are you hurt? Did he cut you?” he inquired, while he wiped the blood off her lips with a piece of cloth. She let him do it, gratefully.

“No… it’s not mine… I-I bit him... and then… he hit me in the face” she managed to tell him.

“Well done! You’ll have a nice bruise on your pretty face tomorrow, but don’t worry; it’ll disappear in a few days”, he said touching her cheek to check the damage. It hurt badly. “What were you doing so far away from the clearing? I told you not to move!” he growled angrily.

Sansa lowered her eyes. He had every right to be furious. “I just wanted to help you with the fire so you didn't have to light it and then I found that creek…” she tried to explain in a whisper, “I’m so sorry…” She began to sob again hiding her face behind her hands.

“Hells, don’t cry, girl. You’re alive and that son of a bitch is dead. I already told you this wouldn’t be easy,” He tapped her shoulder in that clumsy way he had to comfort her, and she cleaned her tears and tried to calm. “I’m going for firewood to finish the fire. You stay here and change your clothes.”

“No, please, don’t leave alone now…”

“I’ve hunted two rabbits, girl. I'm guessing you don’t want to eat them raw. It won’t be long.”

He went into the woods again. She was still scared when she rose; her legs were still weak and menaced with not holding her for long. She managed to change her dress for a new one with shaking hands and she sat again where he had left her. A few minutes later, he returned with a wood tie and some pinecones and prepared a bonfire. Then he skinned the rabbits and put them on a skewer over the fire. Sansa watched again his hands while they worked. They could kill a man, carry her or prepare a meal as easily, and she was grateful for all of their skills, because they kept her alive.

Clegane sat next to her in silence until the rabbits were roasted. The animals were a delicacy for her after so many days eating dry food and he laughed when he saw her licking her fingers when she was done.

“Who do you think that man was? He was alone in the middle of the wood.”

“A deserter, a hungry farmer, a thief... who knows. The only thing I’m sure is that he’s in the seven hells right now.”

Sansa remembered his expression after killing the man; the face of a warrior. That was his true nature, his essence. Killing was his best skill. However, somehow she was comfortable with it and didn’t care at all.

“I owe you my life again, Sandor. Thank you”, she told him looking at him.

He said nothing and looked away, as if he felt uncomfortable with her words. She’d noticed he didn’t like to hear compliments, but she needed to tell him anyway. He rose to prepare his cloak and blanket to sleep next to the dying fire. “Go to rest,” he grunted before backing her.

Sansa watched his huge body lying a few steps from her for a long time. That man in the wood had been the latest one, but there had been others before him. Joffrey, Tyrion, Marillion the bard, Littlefinger. All of them had lusted for her in a moment or another. All of them had tried to touch her or kiss her. She also remembered the lustful gazes of the men of the Vale. They though she was always ready to go to bed with any of them just because she was a bastard. She hated them all. Now she was in the middle of a wood traveling with a man who was no knight and no lord but who never tried to take advantage of her. He hadn't even touched her since the first day they met, when he had embraced her unexpectedly, and she felt more respected by him than for any other man before.

He seemed was already asleep, so Sansa took her own cloak, walked where was and lie to sleep at his back. She was still scared because of the events of the day and realized that was the only place where she felt really safe and sound: as close to him as possible.

 

* * *

 

Sandor felt the girl’s eyes on him while he was pretending to be asleep, but it was difficult to rest. That day he’d killed again, and that fact had changed him somehow. How many months had been since the last time? That was when he and the she wolf killed Gregor’s men at the inn. The day the Hound died. This man had been the first one, but Sandor was sure there would be more and he'd have to kill them too. However, now he felt nothing at all—no regrets, no shame, no pity. That bastard deserved to die and he’d simply given him what he deserved. He could still remember the rage that had filled him when he saw her, half-dressed squirming under him. _I shouldn’t have left her alone_. It had felt good to pierce him with his sword to ease his wrath.

She’d tried to defend herself biting the man’s hand until it bled. Sandor liked that. Then, back at the clearing, he’d also seen her body under what was left of her dress. She had marks from the days of the Red Keep and some new sore in the inner part of her thighs. The last days had probably been hard for her, but she never said a word. He had to admit that the little bird was tougher than he thought.

Suddenly he heard her rising. She walked where he was and a moment later she was laying against his back.

“What the hell…?” he snarled turning to her.

She gasped, “I’m sorry… I thought you were sleeping! I…I’m still scared. What if there are more men like that one nearby? I don’t want to sleep alone,” she muttered.

He could see her blue eyes looking for his in the darkness.

“Believe me, if there were, we’d already know.”

“Are you sure?”

“Aye. Now sleep, it’s been a hard day for you.”

She nodded and finally turned her back to him. He watched her body, lying so close to his, for a long time. Her breathing calmed when she finally fell asleep and her long hair was spread filling the little space that was left between them. Sandor touched it carefully; running his fingers over it as if it was something that could break. He wanted to extend his hand and touch her neck and her shoulder, and then her waist. How many men had tried to rape her so far? he wondered. Despite his many sins, he wasn’t that kind of man, not even after a battle. Few women had wanted to sleep with him willingly, so he’d paid for them when he had needed one. Raping was his brother’s men business, not his. He just had to keep her safe from men like them as long as he could.

Sometime later, he fell asleep with a lock of hair between his fingers.

The next morning, Sansa woke up with the hair full of leaves and grass, but an ugly bruise had begun to spread on her face. The girl touched it and winced in pain.

“Look at you, now you are as ugly as me!” he mocked her.

Sansa raised an eyebrow, “Are you sure?”

He laughed loudly at her response and after a moment of surprise, she giggled too. It was nice to see her relaxed after last night. He liked when she smiled, and she’d done it several times since they met.

“Let’s go to that creek you found, little bird. We both need a bath.”

They walked for a while until they found it. The man’s corpse was still there. He grabbed it by the foot, and dragged it far.

“You go first, I’ll watch.” He told her, though the girl didn’t move. “Hells, we haven’t got all day! Go wash, I won’t look!”

He turned to the opposite side of the creek and waited patiently until she was finished.

“Now my turn. I don’t mind if you want to take a look,” he said with a smile twitching on his lips. She blushed as she usually did at his mockeries and then turned around quickly. He washed himself the best he could, especially the burnt side of his face. The dust of the road had settled there and it was dirty; he hated that. Some minutes later, he was done too and they walked again to the clearing. “Fine, let’s move, it’s late.”

They rode again. He had thought a lot about what to do next and after a while, he finally told her.

“We need to find a farm or an inn. I need to know some things before going on.”

“What for?” she asked. She looked frightened at the idea, “Is it safe?”

“We need to know who is controlling the Neck if we are crossing through it. Maybe I can also get to know something about Kings Landing, or about what’s happening in the North. I haven’t been much in touch with politics lately while living at the Quiet Isle.”

“What if someone recognizes you? Or me?”

“We are very far from the places where the Hound or Sansa Stark were known. Anyway, we need to take the risk.” She didn’t look convinced at all, though she was right, it wasn’t safe. However, he needed to know what had happened in the Realm during his absence in the Isle or they could be caught easily once they came into the North.

“We’ll ride next to the main road. Let’s see what we find.”


	9. Sansa / Sandor

Sansa had feared that moment for two long days, but finally there it was, only about a mile away: a small inn next to the road, with smoke in the chimney and an old stable with some horses. Who knew who would be there? Perhaps men of the Queen, or men of the Vale. Or at least, there’d be nasty men like the one who had tried to rape her. In any case, nobody she wanted to meet. Clegane was confident about the decision to stop, so she had no choice but to follow him.

“Alright, let’s go. I’ll do the talking. You stay at my back and try to hide your face, the bruise is still there.”

They rode to the inn and left the horses outside with a stable boy who took care of them. Clegane opened the door to a big common room with wooden tables and benches. There was also a big chimney and a staircase that led to the first floor. A tasty smell wafted out of the kitchen, and Sansa realized how hungry she was. She walked at his back looking at the floor, but she noticed that everybody had shut up when they had walked in.

Sandor looked around as if nobody was staring at them until he found who was supposed to be the innkeeper.  

“You! Two flagons of ale and a big bowl of whatever you’re cooking. It smells good.”

The man hurried to the kitchen while they sat at a table in the corner of the room.

“Well, at least we could eat something different. I’m tired of dry food and rabbits,” he said.

From her seat, Sansa peeked at the men who were there – they were dirty, drunks, with angry eyes... most of them had swords and daggers and some were looking at their table. She didn’t like the place at all.  

“Stop looking them that way, girl. These are the kind of men we are going to find on the road from now on” 

When the innkeeper came with the flagons, Sandor lifted his and drank half of it in one gulp.

“Mmmm…” he groaned, “I’d almost forgotten how ale tasted! Now, we’ll also need a room for tonight.”

“Can you pay for it?” the man dared to ask. Sandor touched the bag of coins that hung from his belt and the innkeeper’s face changed: “Oh, don’t misunderstand me Ser, these are hard times and you never know what kind of people are sleeping under your roof.”

Sansa wondered how he could say that, taking into account the men who were already there.

“Don’t worry man; I guess mine are the few coins you’ll see tonight. I can pay you even more if you also tell me some things I need to know before going on traveling again.”

A hint of greed crept in to the man’s eyes: “Of course, Ser, I’ll be very pleased to help you. But first, let me tell my daughter to prepare a room for you and your young wife. I’m sure she’d like to have a bath, wouldn’t she?”

Sansa blushed at his words and looked down at her hands, sitting in her lap. Sandor chuckled eyeing her from the corner of his eyes. “Oh, yes, I’m sure she’d like it. Have it prepared after dinner. Now, though, we are hungry.”

“You should have told him I’m not your wife!” she replied as low as she could when the man left them alone.

“Why? It’s safer that way. Otherwise they’ll start wondering about your age or that bruise. Stop worrying and drink something.”

Sansa drank a little gulp of her mug and found it sour and thick. She much preferred wine. After a while, a fat woman came with two big plates for them. Dinner consisted of two big slices of roast pork with vegetables dipped with a thick sauce. The smell was delicious and they ate avidly. Sandor finished his meal and his flagon when she’d barely eaten half of hers, and he ordered another one. She was also very hungry and finished it too, even half of her beer. When she was done, she lay on her seat feeling completely full. Then, Sandor made a sign to the innkeeper and the man came again.

“This is for the meal”, he said handing over some coins to the man.

“Thank you, Ser”, the man said while keeping the money, “What more can I help you with?”

“My wife and I are traveling to White Harbor. We've been on the road for many days, running away from the war,” Sandor lied.

“It’s been hard times. War has devastated everything. Us small folk have to manage the best we can.”

 “We need to cross the Neck, do you know what has been happening around there lately?”

“Oh, krakens are gone for now, but if you are going to White Harbor you should go through Moat Cailin. Bolton’s men are there now.”

“Bolton’s??” Sandor asked, surprised.

“Yes, Roose Bolton is now Guardian of the North. They passed through here some months ago.”

The news surprised Sansa too. Did that mean they lived in Winterfell now? It that was true she couldn’t go there.

“What you should do is to go to Moat Cailin. I know one of the captains there, Guncer Prister. Aye, he is a good friend of mine. He sometimes comes to my inn, looking for girls. Guncer and his men are very generous he he he. Ask for him; tell him old Pate sends you and that Jocelyn is eager to see him again he he he. He’ll let you pass with any question if you are generous with him too…” the man made a nasty smile and his eyes sparkled, wickedly.

Sandor handed him over some more coins, but the news had saddened Sansa and she didn’t pay too much attention.

“Oh, thank you Ser, you’ll be always very welcome here,” he was saying as he kept the coins in his apron. “And now please, your room is ready. You’ll find it on the first floor, the last one of the corridor. It's the best we have… here is the key.”

“Let’s see what kind of hole you’ve given us,” Sandor growled grabbing the old key

They went up the stairs and walked through the corridor to the last door, and he opened it. The room was small but cleaner than she’d thought. It had a small chimney with a fireplace at the bottom, a tiny window, a cot and a big wooden bucket that looked like a tub.

“This place sucks,” he snarled, “If that bastard thinks I’m going to pay him for this stinky hole…”

“But there is a cot, and clean water. That’s much more than I could ask for right now…” she replied.

“Fine. Take your time and have a bath. I’ll lock the door from outside.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Drink for the days I couldn’t do it. And hear what people say when they’re drunk. I’ll try to buy some food for the next days too. You try to rest; we’ll leave tomorrow as soon as possible.”

He tapped her shoulder and then left, locking the door as he went. When Sansa was alone she suddenly felt very tired. The water was still hot so she hurried up to take off her clothes and get into it. It was warm and comfortable inside the tub; she closed her eyes and relaxed for a few moments. Then she rubbed her body and washed her hair as best as she could. When the water cooled, she went out and sat by the little fire to dry. She realized she’d used the tub only for herself. _He’d like to wash, too_ , she thought, _we should ask the man to prepare another one tomorrow morning._

Sansa rose and went to lie on the cot. It was hard, but nothing would feel so soft for her body after so many nights sleeping outside. The last few nights, they had been sleeping close to each other because she felt safer knowing he was next to her, so she huddled up under the duvet on one side of the bed. There was space enough for both of them there. Despite the voices and laughs that came from downstairs, she fell asleep almost immediately.

* * *

Once in the main room again, Sandor ordered another flagon of ale and sat at the same table as before. The girl would have time enough for her bath; it had been hard days and she deserved it. He also ordered the innkeeper’s wife to prepare a package with food for the morning and paid for it. The men in the room peeked at him from time to time, but he was used to it – his face never went unnoticed. Time passed, and people drank and began to talk. They told the Boltons were in Winterfell now, that Roose’s bastard son had married one of the Stark girls. He couldn’t imagine the she wolf getting married at all and couldn’t believe the tale. Another man was worried about the snow; he’d heard from someone, somewhere, that heavy snowstorms were falling on the North. Another one said something about the Imp fleeing his prison after his trial. But after some flagons, the men began to ramble off stories about Starks turning into wolves, dragons in the East, wildings attacking the Wall and other stupid things, so he decided it was time to leave.

Sandor was already a bit drunk and his steeps were clumsy while he climbed the stairs to their room. It was difficult to open the door with his shaking hands, and when he finally got it, he was sure he’d made enough noise to wake up the whole house. But the girl didn’t move. She seemed deeply asleep, curled up in one side of the bed. He dragged a chair next to the bed facing the door and sat, just in case someone had the idea of paying them a visit. Sandor looked then at the little bird. She barely took up space in the cot and he longed for a good rest too, but he resisted the temptation to lie with her. Even though they had slept side by side the last nights, this was somehow different — too close, too much intimacy and too much beer in his belly. He thought she deserved something better than that room, better than his company, better than anything he could ever offer her. He stared at her quiet, peaceful body; her long hair was clean now and its characteristic auburn color had begun to show again. Sandor fell asleep while his eyes ran over her silhouette...


	10. Sansa

Still half asleep, Sansa turned back and reached for the other side of the bed just to make sure he was there, but she only touched the cot. Scared, she got up quickly and rubbed her eyes. Was it possible that he hadn’t come back yet? She felt relieved when she saw him sleeping on the chair beside the cot. _Why he hadn’t slept in the bed?_ she wondered. Dawn was breaking and she thought about letting him sleep a little bit more, but she remembered he wanted to leave soon, so she touched his shoulder to wake him up. He opened his eyes suddenly, instantly wide-awake. His glaze relaxed when it focused on her.

“It’s me…” she said, “Dawn is coming. Good morning.”

Sandor yawned, and stretched his body, surprisingly cat like, for being such a large man.

“Did you enjoy your bath?” he asked.

“Yes. I’d like to tell the innkeeper to prepare another one for you. You need it too.”

“Don’t. I’ll manage with that water over there. We should leave before everybody gets up; there are too many people here. Go pack our things.”

Sansa got dressed and hurried to pack their few belongings. She peeked at him as he removed his tunic to wash. Though he was tall and muscled, he was scarred by countless injuries all over his body. That meant he had been through so much pain… He occasionally also rubbed his forehead – probably he had a headache after all he’d drunk last night. When they were ready, they left the room and went downstairs. It was all quiet and nobody seemed to be awake yet.

“I’m going to look for the innkeeper’s wife,” he said “Last night I paid her for a package of food and I’m not leaving without it. You go to the stables and have the horses prepared; I’ll be over there as soon as I find that old hag”

Sansa nodded and picked up their rucksack, and then made her way to the stables. She walked slowly, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun. She had rested well last night—much better than she had in the last two weeks, and she felt strong enough to continue the journey. The stable was a wooden construction just a few steps back from the main house. Everything seemed to be quiet, but as she turned the corner of the inn, she saw there were four men tying up their horses. The youngest one seemed to be a squire, but the others wore a falcon and a half moon embroidered on their clothes. They were men of the Vale, men of her “father”. A cold shiver ran through her spine and fear paralyzed her body. She tried to run away but it was too late, they had already noticed her.

“Ey, you girl! Where are you going? Don’t leave us so soon…” one them said. “If I’d known there were such pretty girls here I would have come earlier!” All of them laughed with the man while Sansa stepped back, trying to make her way back to where Clegane was.

One of them remained silent and staring at her. “Wait a moment…” he said cautiously, “I think I know you…” He walked towards her with quick steps and grabbed her wrist. “Oh, yes, I know you! you are Littlefinger’s bastard daughter! I saw you once a few months ago at an assembly organized by your father. Don’t you know he’s been very worried about you?” He smiled in a nasty way but the other knights were surprised.

“Really? We have to make sure we brought him back the right girl or there will be no reward for any of us!”

“I’m sorry Ser…” she faltered “but you - you must have mistaken me for someone else…” her mouth was dry and the man was hurting her wrist “I’m – I’m here with my husband…”

“Your husband? Come on, girl! I bet you haven’t married during the last month, have you?” She struggled to free herself from his grip but he was already dragging her where the other men were.

“No, please Ser… I’m not his daughter!”

“I tell you what we are going to do: if you are a good girl and keep silent, we’ll take you back to your daddy, but if you don’t…”

“ **NO** ” an unmistakable voice rasped out behind them. Sandor was walking towards the stable; his steps were like a predator’s. He left the food package on the ground and stood in front of them, with clenched fists and tense muscles; ready to fight. His gaze was cold and hollow and every part of his body was poised for a fight. “I’ll tell you what **you** ’re going to do. You free the girl and I may let you live a little longer.”

Sansa shivered; _He’s going to kill them all…_

“So you are the husband? You’re too ugly to have such a pretty wife! Hahahaha!” one of the men mocked him and all the rest laughed with him.

“Jealous? Yeah, you should be. Now, get your pretty little asses on your horses and ride back to the shitty hole from where you came!”

“I know you too, you were Joffrey’s dog,” said another knight. “Don’t you know you should be dead?”

He stared at them and remained silent; waiting for them to make a mistake. The air became increasingly tense; she could even hear her own heartbeat, in her ears. Everybody was alert; their hands close to their sword hilts.

“Come on Ser. You may have found her first, but you don’t even know how to deal with a lady—you even punched her!” said the third one pointing at Sansa’s face. “Look, I bet you want the reward too but there are more of us, and we are younger, old dog. You’ve lost this opportunity. But I promise we’ll take good care of her—we know how bastard girls like to be treated, don’t we friends? Ha ha ha!!”

Sandor twitched the burnt side of his mouth into a wolfish smile and shrugged: “Yeah, I may be older, but you’ll be soon in hell, summer boys. And don’t call me Ser.” He drew his sword from its scabbard with a quick movement and hammered at the man, who could barely withstand the blow. He was too slow, and when Clegane threw another strong cut to his side, his sword cut clothing, flesh and bones all at once and the man fell to the ground in front his comrades.

Everything happened very fast after that. The two other men attacked Sandor at once, and the swords clashed, with sickening sound of metal on metal. The one who held her gripped her wrists tighter, keeping them behind her back with one hand and holding his sword with the other. “Stay quiet girl. The Hound will be dead soon” he whispered in her ear. She looked at the men who were fighting. Sandor was more skilled, and much stronger, and the men could barely stop his blows, which were well timed, and well-aimed. The others, however, were younger and faster and they had already managed to cut his right arm. His limp was giving him problems when fighting, as well. He took a step back and tripped over the food package, falling back to the ground. One of the men took advantage of that and hit him hard with his sword, but Sandor whirled on the ground and avoided the blow, although it gave him a deep cut in his left side. Howling in pain, he still succeeded in throwing a hard kick to the leg of the other, causing him to land on his butt. Sandor managed to get up quickly; he lifted his sword over his head and slashed his it down on the man’s shoulder, almost ripping the arm from the body. The man screamed while blood spread on the ground.

Sansa looked at the man at his back. He hesitated for a moment as he looked at the two dead men, but then he let her go and ran to help the other one. “You’d better yield or when we are finished with you, we’ll kill her too!” he yelled.

“Bugger you, boy!!” Clegane snarled, and the steel crashed again between the three men. Sandor’s shirt was completely stained with blood and his face was twisted with pain. He was losing too much blood from the wound. _They are killing him_ , Sansa realized. She looked around desperately. _I wish there was something I could do..._ she looked at the ground, grabbed up a stone and threw it at the men of the Vale. The stone passed away from them without being noticed. She threw a second one that moved closer, until the third stone hit one of them right between his shoulder blades. It wasn’t a heavy blow, but it was enough for him to lose concentration and look sideways. Clegane didn’t lose the opportunity and hit him hard on the neck. He fell heavily. The last one was scared and began to step back. Sandor had a frightening appearance, all covered in blood. He followed him until his back was against a wall. “No, please… you can take her, I don’t want the reward anymore…please…”

“I don’t want it either, boy. Go say hello to your friends”. The man tried to fight back but his movements were sloppy, and Sandor’s sword impaled his chest, easily.

Sansa looked at the place; there were four dead men and blood everywhere. She felt sick and did all she could to not vomit. He had knelt, breathing heavily, and there were already some people watching through the windows of the inn. Sansa ran towards him, “Are you ok? You’re hurt!”

“I’ll survive, but we need to leave now. Everybody in this house should be awake by now and if anyone has heard about the reward…” Sansa opened her eyes very scared. “Go grab the rucksack and the food and let’s get the hell out of here as soon as possible!”

She nodded, picked up the things, and put them on the horses. He howled of pain when he mounted on Stranger and she thought he couldn’t ride, but the horse knew what was required of him and broke into a fast gallop. She followed them on her male horse and they left the inn leaving a trail of death behind them.

* * *

 

They rode swiftly down the main road and after a while, they went into the woods. She lost track of the time they were riding and they didn’t stop until her horse got too exhausted to keep going. Sandor looked sick, and he almost rolled to the ground from Stranger. Sansa rush to help him to lie on a tree. He was sweating and his face was a pale mask of pain.

“There is a wineskin in my saddle, bring it!” he ordered hoarsely.

As she hurried for it, he took off his cloak and tore the stained shirt. He touched the wound of his left side; it wasn’t very long but it was deep enough to make him loose too much blood. It looked very bad. He took the wine and poured it over the wound. Wine and blood ran down his side and he clenched his jaw trying not to scream.

“This won’t heal easily…. Do you know how to sew?” he asked.

She blinked, surprised. “I do. My septa always said I was her best student, but…”

“Then go and get a needle. There should be one between my things, on Stranger. I need you to sew this cut.”

“B-but… I don’t… I’m not sure I could…” she hesitated.

“Go take it now. **GO**!”

She ran again to the horse. Her fingers trembled as she searched for it in his bag. Finally, it pricked her fingertip, and she went back to the tree and knelt in front of him holding it carefully. “Good, now get a thread from anywhere a sew it.” She took a long one off his shirt and threaded it. Sandor drank a long gulp of wine and turned his body. She was scared—how could she just simply sew somebody? She wasn’t a maester; the wound could even become worse! “Come on girl!” he snarled, “I don’t want to bleed to death in this fucking wood!” Sansa pulled the needle to his side. Her hands were shaking. She held the two sides of the cut, closed her eyes and pinched the flesh. Sandor snorted and stamped his fist to the ground. The thread passed through the cut and she gave another stitch. And another and another … She continued until twenty stitches covered the wound. When it was finished, she dried the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and it got covered in blood and dirt. Sandor moved very slowly and laid his back on the tree again. His sight was blurred from the pain, and he could barely talk. “Well done, little bird…” he managed to say; his voice was thick with pain. Sansa got closer and touched his forehead as she had seen maester Luwin do. It was very hot.

“Did I hurt you? How-how do you feel?”

“Oh yeah…it hurts… but I’ve survived much worse injuries, I guess I can survive to your hands…” He tried to laugh but he groaned instead. She tore a clean piece of cloth from his own dress and gently wiped the sweat from his forehead and cheeks. He let her do it without complain. She was so worried… he could have died that morning and then she’d be on the road back to Littlefinger with four strangers and his death would have been for nothing. He had risked his life for her and now he was severely hurt. Everything that had happed was because of her—it was her fault.

Sandor was staring at her. He raised his hand slowly to wipe the blood from her forehead with his thumb but he was so weak he could barely hold his arm up. Sansa took his hand and pressed her cheek in his palm; it was so warm... She could hardly hold back the tears. “I don’t want you to die…I couldn’t bear it…” she said softly.

His thumb stroked her cheek very lightly. “All men must die little bird.”

“But not for me… I don’t want you to die for me…” She didn’t dare to imagine her life alone anymore. Somehow, she needed him around her, watching her back, advising her. A single tear slid down her cheek to his hand. She sniffled.

“I can’t die today. I promised to keep you safe, remember?” he muttered. She nodded. “I just need to rest. Tomorrow we’ll keep riding to Moat Cailin. You should rest, too.”

Sansa pecked his hand and put it back in on his lap. Despite the pain, it seemed he was smiling when he closed the eyes.


	11. Sandor

He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were heavy as stones. He tried again and despite the blurry sight, he could see the girl working by the fire. _Has she made the fire all alone?_ he wondered. He wanted to move but his body didn’t respond and the effort made him feel dizzy. _Fucking wound, fucking fever._ His eyes closed again against his will and he fell into another deep fevered sleep.

This time he was surrounded by a tall curtain of green fire. He wanted to cross it, but every time he tried, the flames burnt a part of his body. He tried harder and finally passed through it, yelling. Then he found himself in a large Sept where an ugly dwarf was placing a purple cloak over a young lady’s shoulders. The lady was very pale and had blue eyes, and when she looked at him she was crying silently, her eyes were asking for help. He ran towards her, but suddenly a huge man was standing between them. He was holding a longsword and laughing at him. Three dogs were embroidered on his chest. Even though he couldn’t see his face he knew it was his brother. He tried to fight him, but he was bare chested and in his hand was only a wooden spear. He threw the spear towards him and it impaled the man’s chest, but no blood came out of the wound. Then Sandor felt as if a thousand hands were touching him; his arms, his chest, his injured side. The pain was unbearable. Gregor walked towards him, raised the sword and hammered him… and then he woke up screaming.

It took him some moments to realize he was again in the wood. He breathed deeply and looked around. He watched at the sky above the canopy; he might have been dreaming for a long time because it was dark now and the fire was about to go off. The girl was sleeping next to him, huddled up under her cloak and blanket and apparently he hadn’t awakened her. Sandor ran his fingers over the stitches on his side, but couldn’t find them. His torso was wrapped with clean fabric and so was the wound on his arm. It was a piece of cloth torn from one of her dresses, he noticed. She had also put his cloak over him before going to rest. _This is the second time a Stark girl has had to help me, I'm certainly getting old,_ he couldn’t but to mock at himself. He stared at her body lying on the ground and realized he was pleased by her attentions—the stitches, the bandage, the cloak—it was because she needed him to be alive to get to the Wall but nevertheless her concern seemed so real... He could still feel her light kiss on his palm. There was no need for that but she had done it anyway. He clenched his right hand and kept that little moment deep inside him just before another burst of fever made him fall asleep.

The next morning the sun woke him up by shining right in his face. He put a hand over his eyes and noticed her bustling busily by the fire again.

“What are you doing?” he snorted.

“You finally woke up! How are you feeling?” She looked at him with a hint of relief in her eyes. The girl took some things and walked to the tree to kneel in front of him. “I didn’t want to wake you. You’ve been shivering and talking in your sleep… I was very worried…”

“Better now I feel like if I’ve been sleeping for a century!. Did you make the bandages?” he asked. She nodded at looked at the ground. “You fell asleep and the cuts were still bleeding… I didn’t know want to do… I thought that might help…”

He looked at her. He should say something about it but couldn’t find the right words. “It’s fine; it’ll help” he managed to say as he stroke his side over the clothes with his right hand.

She handed him a wooden bowl: “I’ve tried to prepare something to eat. Our Maester at Winterfell always gave us this soup when we were sick. Maybe it helps. I’ve also made the fire by myself.” She looked proud of herself so Sandor took the bowl and tried it. It tasted like… water. Hot water with sliced vegetables. He grimaced at her: “Did anyone of your family get better with this?” he grumbled “Even the monks meals tasted better!”

Sansa frowned and rose “I was raised to be a Lady, not to cook in the forest or to sew anyone!” she said angrily.

“Did they also teach you how to throw stones to soldiers? ‘Cause that you really do it right!” he mocked her. She blushed and looked away. “I… I just wanted to help… but you…you still think I’m the silly little girl you met years ago. You still think I know nothing about real life.”

He stared at her from the ground where he sat holding the bowl. She wasn’t a little girl anymore; she was a brave woman. He could have bled to death had it not been for her and somehow he had disappointed her.

“I know what you went through in Kings Landing and I can imagine the rest. Life hasn’t been fair for you since you left your home. Sadly, you know too much of real life, little bird.”

She sat again; her anger gone for now. He ate the soup; at least it was warm. “It isn’t so bad. It has vegetables,” he said. Although she was looking away, he could see how she began to smile shyly: “I hated it too when Maester Luwin prepared it. I preferred lemon cakes,” she said, and they both laughed at it.

When he was done, he rose slowly leaning on the trunk of the tree. He still felt weak and dizzy so when he stepped forward he needed to put a big hand on her shoulder to keep from falling. She took his arm: “Are you all right? Maybe we should stay here a bit longer until you got better?”

“No, we need to move on. We’ve lost too much time and someone in the inn could be looking for us. Pack the things, we’re leaving,” he said with finality.

Sandor put on a clean shirt and his cloak; although his movements were slow and careful the wound still gave him a great deal of pain. He needed all of his strength to mount Stranger but he couldn’t allow himself to rest any longer. She prepared their things quickly and they left as soon as she mounted her mare. Once on the horse everything was easier; he only needed the horse to take him.

The hours passed as they rode by the Neck. She rode next to him but they barely spoke, although she peeked at him from time to time. They stopped to eat something and after a while continued travelling until dusk. By then, the pain was unbearable and he almost fell from the saddle when he tried to dismount. He got to stand until he rested against a giant rock. The effort of the day had left him exhausted, but at least they had managed to go half the way. Now he figured Moat Cailin should be only one days’ journey away.

He unbuttoned his cloak and found the shirt stained with blood again. “Bloody hells!” he cursed. Sansa took a bag from her horse and hurried to kneel where he was. “You’re bleeding again!” she gasped. He tried to take off the bandage around his torso but the fever had returned to him and couldn’t do it properly, so she helped him. Her fingers untied the knots of the bandages and she began to unwrap slowly the fabric. As she did so, her fingertips touched his chest, her touch giving him goosebumps. He stood still, letting her do what she needed to do, absorbed in the movements of her hands. She poured some wine over the wound; it stung like a million needles stabbing him, but he barely paid attention to it—all of his senses were filled with her proximity: her hair placed behind her ear, her concentrated gaze, her hands making the new bandages…he would be perfectly content to lay there for hours, just watching her. Maybe it was the fever, maybe his stupid imagination or maybe it was simply that he was going mad in that journey with her, but he seemed to feel her fingers touching his body more slowly that they should as she put the new fabric around him. His body tensed under her touch; she should be noticing it. Then she wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of her hand: “You’re burning with fever…” she gasped with her face only a few inches from his filling his entire viewing space. He grabbed her hand, uneasy and excited; lost in her blue gaze and pulled her closer. He had already lived that situation before, a long time ago, that horrible green night he ran to her chambers. But this time she wasn’t scared, but worried and expectant. _Don’t do that, little bird_ , he thought _, don’t look at me as if you care_ … The dying sun painted everything in a soft reddish colour that made her hair shine.

“Sandor...” she whispered.

He knew he wasn’t aware of what he was doing when he pulled her to him and kissed her. It was a short, hard, clumsy kiss—the only way he knew to do it. She tensed under his lips but after the first few seconds of surprise and nervousness, she closed her eyes and kissed him back—a short soft warm peck, the only way she could do it. Their lips only touched for a few seconds but it was like a moment suspended in time. He looked at her when they separated, surprised not to find any disgust on her face but rather a bit of embarrassment as she blushed looking down. "Little bird..." he moaned, still holding her hand tight. She looked at him again, smiling slightly, and then she slowly huddled up between his legs and lay against his chest. They remained that way, with him holding her, both wrapped in their cloaks, until the sun went down.

“Go to prepare some of that soup of yours,” he said when it was dark. She rose and left, and so the moment was gone as quick as the wind blows. He sat there, eyes closed, with a new and strange warmth in his body. The rest of the night was quiet; they ate in silence and then she lay to rest under her cloak next to him. Only that night there weren’t nightmares in his dreams.

***

The next morning they woke up early and rode again for hours, until the remaining three towers of Moat Cailin appeared on the horizon. It was claimed that Moat Cailin was raised roughly ten thousand years ago, by the First Men; a great stronghold, with twenty towers and great wall as high as that of Winterfell’s. Now most of its towers had fallen into ruins and were completely covered in green moss, but it still was an effective natural choke point which had protected the North from southern invasion for thousands of years. Its three towers commanded the causeway from all sides and they need to pass between them.

“Do you think we could bribe that man, Gunter?” she asked.

“Hope so, ‘cause it’s the only way to pass. All men like money; I don’t think this would be any different.”

Hope we have money enough, he thought to himself, or we’ll be fucked.

They saw the Bolton’s banner flying on top of one of the towers: the pink flayed man of Dreadfort. Sansa shivered. “I never liked Roose Bolton, he frightened me when I was a child,” she muttered.

They covered their heads and rode slowly towards de stronghold.

“ **STOP! YOU THERE!!”** a man yelled from atop of a tower when they were arriving. “ **WHO’S COMING?”**

“Only a pair of travellers on their road to White Harbour!!” he shouted back.

“Nobody can cross. Lord Bolton’s command. Go back!” said the man.

Sandor looked up to the castle. There were at least 20 archers at the battlement and a similar amount of foot soldiers.

“Let me talk with your captain Prister.  His friend Pate sends us, we have something for him,” he said.

The man hesitated for a bit but finally went to look for the man. Sandor and Sansa dismounted and waited beside the horses. Some minutes later, the man called Gunter was leaving the castle. He was a tall slim man, in his thirties, and he looked angry.

“So, want do you want, man? I haven’t got all day!” Gunter snorted

“We just want to pass and follow our path.” Sandor said again.

“Nobody can cross to the North, I’m sorry.”

“Pate, at the inn, said you were a reasonable man,” he said while handing him a bag filled with coins. Gunter opened it greedily and then eyed them wickedly. “Do you want to bribe me? Do you take me for a fool? Lots of people knows Pate, I bet you’ve never even been at his inn.” He turned to go “Like I said, nobody can cross. Now go!”

Sandor looked around and calculated his chances: he could for sure kill the man, and maybe some of the soldiers, but not all of them before an arrow reached him. And the girl would be alone among the rest of the men. He tried to think quickly when suddenly he heard her saying: “Pate told us about Jocelyn.”

The captain stopped and turned back “What did you just say?” he asked staring at Sansa.

“He said she was eager to see you again…” she almost stammered. The man walked again where they were. Sansa looked for something in her pockets and she handed him a shiny thing: “This bracelet was from my aunt… you can give it to Jocelyn next time you see her. She’d like it,” she said.

 _Smart girl!_ Sandor though pleased.

The man looked at it and frowned. “You know I can kill you both and keep it all,” he threatened.

Sandor shrugged and put a hand on his sword hilt: “Not before I kill you first. And so you won’t enjoy the money nor your girl. You better let us go on our way.”

Gunter hesitated but finally shouted: “Open that door and let them pass!”

They mounted again and rode through the wooden keep rotted away a thousand years ago. Great blocks of black rocks lay scattered around, half sunk in the ground, where the wall once stood. Despite the ruinous state it was in, the keep was still impressive. The men of the garrison looked askance at them but none tried to stop them. Once they crossed it, they rode more quickly until the towers of Moat Cailin were out of sight.

She took off the hood of her cloak; “We did it!” she said. “Finally, you got me here” A big smile lit up her face as she looked at him.

“Aye, we are here, little bird.”


	12. Sansa

 

That was her first night in the North since she left Winterfell years ago. So many things had happened to her since then…she knew she was still in danger but in spite of all that, she couldn’t help feeling happy to be there again. She now knew the name of the trees that surrounded them and also recognized the smell of the forest, of the grass—it was the smell of her childhood and that realm was the only home she had ever had.

They had stopped to camp as far from Moat Cailin as Sandor Clegane could withstand riding. He was pale again and seemed exhausted, but his cut had barely bled during the day and he wasn’t as fevered as the days before. He didn’t even need her help. Sansa sat to rest and watched him while he cleaned the wound and changed the fabric. Instinctively, she put her fingers to her mouth. She hadn’t thought about it during the day, but she could still feel his kiss on her lips. She seemed to remember his previous kiss, the one he gave her the night of the Blackwater Battle, but this one had nothing to do with her memories, in fact, it had nothing to do with any other kisses she had received from Tyrion, Littlefinger or Sweetrobin. She didn’t know what drove him to do it; maybe it was because of the fever but...despite the pain, the scars, and the blood it had been something unexpected but warm, something that had given her quite a thrill. She hadn’t even thought about it when she huddled against him; it was like a natural movement, something that her body just felt like doing. She didn’t know for how long he was holding her. The only thing she was now really aware was that over there, between his arms and his body, listening at his heartbeat, was the only place in the whole Realm where she felt safe and sound. But she tossed those thoughts aside; that wasn’t the time to think of kisses or romanticism. For the time being there were real problems to be worried about until they reached a safe place.

He was resting now, eyes closed, leaned on a tree trunk. She rose to look for something to eat in the rucksack and prepared a simple dinner for them both.

“Do you think we can go to Winterfell?” she asked.

“If Bolton’s bastard is really there now, he’ll throw you right back in Cersei’s lap. Boltons, Freys and Lannisters became very close after the Red Wedding and…” he shook his head looking away from her,“that was something even I couldn’t withstand…”

“Were you there when it happened? Did you see my family?”

“Believe me; you don’t want to know what I saw… that was a butchery…”

Sansa remembered her brother Robb, sadly. Once she’d thought he was going to rescue her, kill all the Lannisters and take her back to Winterfell, but he was murdered and so was her mother and she had to stay hostage in Kings Landing indefinitely.

“So, what are we going to do from now on?”

“Same as before, try to avoid meeting people, especially soldiers. I don’t know what houses have joined Roose Bolton nor what is really happening here,” He looked at her “I think you shouldn’t reveal to anyone who you really are until we meet that brother of yours. Although there should be someone still loyal to your father here, we can’t take the risk to end up in the wrong side. The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch shouldn’t take part in politics, so is safer that way.”

She nodded; if he thought so, then that should be the best way. “Now let me rest, this wound is still killing me,” he growled.

She took her cloak and blanket and lay to sleep. She had almost fallen asleep when she heard him saying “That thing with the bracelet you did today… it was a smart move.” She smiled at his compliment, proud for being helpful. “I still have some more jewels,” He was only a hulking shadow in the dark now: “Fine, we might need them.”

***

The next days passed surprisingly quietly. They traveled following the Kings Road but far enough from it to not be seen. That was the quickest way to the Wall and they didn’t want to get lost into the deep northern woods. Furthermore, days were getting colder and the sky was gray most of the time; it was going to snow at any moment. Soon their night fire wouldn’t be enough to warm them from the chill.

During those days she thought a lot about Brienne. She wondered what had become of her. Had she managed to reach Jaime Lannister? Would she be happy being next to him once she had finished her quest? She didn’t know for sure what had really happened between the two of them; although Sansa didn’t understand why, it seemed Brienne felt a strong bond with him. She didn’t care about it as long as the Lannisters and the Gold Cloaks left them alone.

Their days were simple: they didn’t talk too much but sat for having lunch at noon and lay to rest at down. His cut was also getting better every day and he hadn’t had fever since a few days ago. Even though every day was similar to the one before, she realized she was beginning to enjoy their little routine.

That day they had stopped in a small clearing not very far from the main road. The horses were grazing, and everything was calm and quiet as they were chewing some cheese with the last hard bread remaining from the inn. Soon he would have to hunt again or they would starve.

Sansa touched her face where the man had punched her and winced.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked with his mouth full of bread.

“A little. How is it?”

He shrugged and cleaned his mouth with the back of the hand, “It’s vanishing; now only half of your face is still yellowish,” he mocked her. She frowned at him and had already opened her mouth to complain when he suddenly waved a hand at her and became alert: “Shhhhh!! Do you hear that?” he asked

“I don’t hear anything…” she said, trying to listen.

Sandor leaned his head forward; eyes closed, and listened carefully: “Horses. Plenty of them. Come on, let’s move!” He gripped her wrist pulling her quickly to the bushes that were a few steps away and she stumbled several times trying to follow him. He had already drawn his sword when they huddled behind the deep shrub,.

“They should be northmen, maybe they can be our allies…” she tried to explain to him.

“I’m sorry girl, but I think you no longer have allies here. Now shut up!” He pressed her to him and covered her mouth with a huge hand. She tried to protest but then she also heard it distinctly: the unmistakable sound of horse’s hooves. A few moments later they could also see them from their hiding place. She began to panic as soon as she saw their banners: the two blue towers of House Frey and the red flayed man of House Bolton. She could also recognize the flags of other northern houses riding with them: the two rusted longaxes of House Dustin, some men from House Umber and others from House Glover. It was a large column of about a hundred men on horseback fully armed coming from the south. Clegane kept his hand over her mouth the whole time so she could barely breathe, but she felt his body against hers, tense. Once the column had passed by, he removed his hand and she could take a deep breath.

“They were riding to Winterfell, weren’t they?”

“Maybe. We should ride farther from the road; that way isn’t safe anymore,” he said “Now let’s go find the horses.”

They rose and walked again to the clearing; their horses were still there, but so was a Frey soldier on horseback that was already holding the bridles of their horses. He must have delayed from the column of soldiers who had just passed.

“Seven hells!” Sandor cursed

Sansa gasped scared and gripped Sandor’s arm.

“Good horses!” the man said

“Let them go!” Sandor rasped out, still holding his sword.

“Thought they were alone. Anyway, I need them. Thank you for the present! Hahahaha,” The man laughed and tried to ride to the main road pulling from the bridles of the animals. But stealing Stranger wasn’t that easy; the horse whinnied and stood on two legs, scaring the soldier’s mount. He was taken by surprise and dropped the bridle letting them go.

“Go take the horses!!” he yelled at her, “if something happens to me, just mount on yours and run as fast as possible from here!”

Sandor ran toward the soldier, grabbed his saddle and gave him a strong blow with his sword. The man managed to stop it but the movement made him fall to the ground. The horse ran away scared by the fight and the swords clashed again. Sansa stood a few steps away; she had grabbed the horses’ bridles and was trying to calm them as she worriedly watched the Frey man go to hit Sandor on his shoulder, making him bleed. Despite the new wound, Sandor managed to corner him against a tree. The soldier was sweating heavily and could barely withstand the blows. It was easy then for Clegane to impale him with two more quick movements.

Sansa hurried to check on him but he was already looking into the man’s pockets.

“Are you going to rob him?” she asked disgusted.

“Why not? He won’t need it anymore and his sword is better than mine. And we’ll need both,” he finally found a little pouch and keep it. “Now let’s run before someone misses that vermin.”

While they rode again into the wood, Sansa felt very tired. Tired of always hiding and running, and tired of the kind of people they had to deal with. There was always someone who wanted to rob them, or rape her or win a reward. Everybody they met tried to take advantage of her in a way or another. _There was a time when I thought the world to be a nice place, where knights protected the women and the weak, but not anymore_.

They stopped to camp a couple of hours later. “ _Seven bloody hells!!”_ she heard him cursing. She looked at him; Sandor’s shoulder was bleeding from the new wound and some of the stitches of his side cut were open again. They were already out of wine so she just took some water and went to check on him.

“This was the sixth man I kill since I met you at the Isle. You’re expensive, girl,” he rasped coldly.

She blinked and tried to answer, but there really was nothing she could say: it was true; she was causing him to spill too much blood. Sandor stood in front of her holding her gaze. He was a man to be feared: deadly as a blade, skilled in combat, so tall and strong that he had survived many deadly injuries… he could earn a lot of money working for a great House, but instead he’d chosen to protect her from an uncertain fate. Suddenly a warm wave of gratitude swept over her. But deep inside that feeling there was something more, something still unnamed but strong that she was now beginning to understand. Something that had made her skin shiver every time his rough hands had brushed against her.

“I know.” she just say. “You were right; the world is awful. But I’m glad to have you next to me every day keeping me alive. It may not mean very much but you are the only one I could really trust in years and I wish I could at least eventually return you a bit of what you’re doing for me.”

He stared at her, his hand covering the wound in his side, and nodded slowly. “Now, please, let me help you or those cuts will never heal properly”.

He sat against a tree trunk and let her clean and wrap them carefully with a clean bandage, then Sansa sat next to him, resting her head on his good shoulder. It was getting dark and she shivered with cold so he put his arm around her shoulders and she huddled against him.

“I’m just a dog, little bird; it’s our job to keep people safe.” He muttered against her crown.

 _What a stupid thing,_ she thought _; he’s a man, a strong, fierce and brave one. Only maybe few people have treated him that way so far._ Still leaning on his shoulder she turned her face to look at him. “Stop saying that, you are not a dog to me.”

He raised his hand to touch her hair. It was now a mess, all tangled and knotted, but he stroked it carefully. Trusting, she closed the eyes and felt how he cupped her cheek—it completely fit in his big hand. When a moment later she felt his kiss she opened her mouth to him and received it as something that should have happened eventually. He held her tight; one hand at her back and the other at her neck, kissing her carefully and slowly; enjoying having her lips between his. She kissed him back in a way so natural that it surprised her. This new feeling soothed her. He deepened the kiss and she let him tangle his tongue with hers and then she held his lower lip between hers. Sansa felt him moan into her mouth, very very low. He separated his mouth from hers just to bite slightly at her neck instead….her body shivered under his mouth and she grabbed instinctively his chest. One of his hands stroked gentle her back and the other one firmly held her head. She could feel him now in every inch of her body, from her head to her feet. _That's it,_ she realized _, that’s what happens when someone you like wants you; your body responds instinctively to his._ She breathed deeply and after a while he stopped and looked at her: “This is wrong, little bird… you don’t need to do that…”

She brushed a strand of black thick hair from his cheek. “We are alone and may be dead by tomorrow, who cares now what it’s right or wrong”

“You deserve better than me, you’re a highborn lady...” he muttered. There was bitterness in his voice, but she sighed, feeling suddenly very tired “I’m tired of it. I’m just a woman who needs to be cared and cuddled for someone who doesn’t want her for her title.” He pressed her tight to him and kissed her forehead. She closed her eyes, simply feeling the warmth of being held. And it was there, buried into his arms when she realized that was all she ever really wanted.

 


	13. Sandor

“Ey, wake up! Please, wake up!”

He opened his eyes sleepily when he felt she was shaking his shoulder and found her blue gaze only a few inches from his. Something was shining on her nose…“Look! It’s snowing!” she said again and a suddenly bright smile lit her face.

He rubbed his eyes and sat cross-legged to watch her for a while. It was snowing lightly and she stood a few steps from him; her face raised to the sky, eyes closed, letting the snowflakes melt on her pale skin. She seemed… happy.

What a weird feeling to have in the middle of a wood, hiding and running from everyone, he thought. Sandor took his hand instinctively to the wound on his side and ran his fingers over the stitches; realizing he’d developed a habit of doing it from time to time. Happy… he wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt that way—maybe when he was a child, before the burnings and the scar, or maybe drinking red wine and whoring after a battle. But she did; she had been happy before her betrothal to Joffrey, before traveling to Kings Landing. After that, he’d rarely seen her smile or laugh the way she was now; confident and relaxed, smiling for a simple thing such as feeling the snow on her face again.

He rose and went to check on the horses trying to avoid her trustful look and the weight of the strange new feelings that overwhelmed him; because he was sure none of them were right. He shuddered at the thought of what had happened last night: the way she had given herself to him without reservations, giving him access to her mouth and neck, and how she had kissed him in return. He could undoubtedly feel her need for him, her eagerness to be with him, and only with a huge amount of willpower could he leave her and stop that madness. Otherwise, he’d have taken her right there in the middle of nowhere, before all of the gods who inhabited that bloody wood, and the little bird didn’t deserve that. After that, he had just held her tight the best he could, her cheek over his chest until she fell asleep huddled against him. He shook his head to toss aside those memories; that was wrong, a man like him wasn’t allowed to enjoy those kind of things, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted by such thoughts, or he could make a mistake that could cost them their lives. But… his lips still burnt at the mere memory of her skin…

He fished around in the rucksack for something to eat and frowned, worried. They were dangerously close to running out of food: there were only a few dark sausages and some hard cheese left, so he would have to hunt as soon as possible—if the snow let him do so. She could be happy because it reminded her of Winterfel, but the snow was surely going to make their journey more difficult.

They went on the road again, only this time further from the King’s Road. He wouldn't make the same mistake again; this new way was harder, but safer, and he hoped to find no soldiers for a long time.

The snow fell slightly but incessantly all day long and when it was time to camp, he had to build a small hut, like a lean to, with four sticks and one of their blankets to protect them from the snowfall overnight. Despite the chill and the snow, Sandor got to hunt a hare and after roasting it they sat to eat it under the hut.

“What are you going to do when we arrive to the Wall?” she asked suddenly “I’ve never asked you.”

 _I never thought I’d reach there alive_ , he thought. He shrugged: _“_ Don’t know. I guess I could still find a northern lord who needs to hire my sword.” he said instead.

She seemed disappointed with the answer. “What? Did you think I was going to take the black and fight for your bastard brother? Seven hells, no!” he laughed.

“No! I thought perhaps… perhaps you could stay but… with me…” He looked at her but she was staring at her feet now, suddenly shy. “If I could get Winterfel back I could pay you too, if you’d like… ”

“You don’t owe me anything, little bird. And first, we need to get there alive, so you better wrap yourself up the best you can and try to rest. Night’s going to be hard.”

She nodded “I know. Don’t worry, I withstand the cold well, I think.”

 _Hope so,_ he thought. _This snowfall doesn’t seem as if it will stop anytime soon…_

She huddled into her cloak and they lay next to each other trying to sleep despite the chill and the blowing wind. Stay with her… he’d never considered that, but maybe, if she so wanted, he could do it. For her.

*  *  *

 

The snowfall continued for days and days. The biting cold chilled their fingers into clumsy numbness and pierced their bodies to the bones. Night and day, the snowflakes made a white endless curtain that made it more difficult every day to see beyond a few steps. The groundwas covered in a thick blanket of white that made riding their horses increasingly difficult. He still felt strong, but was beginning to worry about her. Even though she never complained, she was paler and thinner every day and hunting was so scarce, he could barely find something to eat. The landscape was like a white bloody nightmare.

One day her mare tripped over a root buried in the snow and broke her leg. Its whinnies of pain were unbearable, but there was nothing they could do to help her, and he had to kill her.  Sandor was sure that the girl would have cried having the strength, but she was so weak she remained silent most of the time. “At least we can use her meat,” he said. She made a face of disgust and turned so she wouldn't see him tearing into the horse. “Grimace all you want, girl, but I won’t starve because you are too proud to eat horse meat.”

But that night, when the smell of a thick roasting piece of meat came to her, she asked for a slice and ate it greedily. He didn’t mock her as he would do in a different situation—he knew that two days with barely anything on her stomach were too much for her to stand and the horse meat was as good as any other to fill their bellies. 

In the morning, Stranger had to carry them both. She seated behind him, both arms tight around him. Nothing else had happened between them since the day they kissed under that tree and he knew it was better that way. But now he secretly enjoyed feeling her body against his back and he stoked her hands over his chest from time to time.

The coughs began that same evening. They were slight at first, but after two days it sounded really bad, until the night when Sansa began to shake and shiver. He touched her forehead: “Seven hells, you’re burning, girl!”

“No, I’m just cold… don’t worry, it’ll pass…” she said, but she was pale and dark bags had begun to show under her eyes. He held her next to the fire and tried to warm her with his own body and cloak, but it wasn’t enough. The next morning, her gaze was wet and blurry and she was so weak that Sandor had to carry her up to Stranger and hold her in front of him during the ride. She was huddled against his chest, barely moving.

 _Seven buggering fucking hells!_ He cursed. _How didn’t you notice? She is so proud and stubborn she hadn't even complained. I need to get her to a house or an inn or anywhere where she could rest and get some warmth._

“We are riding to the King’s Road again” he finally decided.

“No… please…” her voice was almost a whisper “there could be soldiers… or worse…”

“I’ll kill for a fucking roof over our heads and a fireplace. This is hell on earth. You just hold on!” he rasped.

Next to the road there should be more possibilities to find a place to shield from that storm. But although he made Stranger ride as fast as he could over the snow, it took him the whole day to make out smoke in the distance. He didn’t care whose it was, he’d kill anyone he met if necessary. When they approached, he found that the smoke was coming from an old ramshackle wooden house.  It was might as well have been a hut, but at least it had four walls and a roof. He stopped Stranger outside and picked Sansa up into his arms. “Hold on…” he muttered before knocking at the old door. “Is there anyone here?!?”

“Please, I don’t have anything…” said a voice at his back.  Sandor turned and met a man as old as his house. He wore a threadbare cloak and was thin, wrinkled and toothless “the soldiers already took my animals and my money, there’s nothing left, please, ser…”

“I don’t want to rob you, man” he roared. “We just need a place to shield for a while.”

“I-I don’t have anything…” he kept stammering.

Sandor rummaged into his pockets and threw the purse he’d taken from the Frey soldier towards the old man. “Take that, now you have some coins.”

The man watched astonished how Sandor gave a strong kick to open the door. The place stunk but there was a small chimney with a fireplace and an old cot on the floor, and it was warm there. He left Sansa carefully on the coat and knelt beside her. She was still shaking and shivering and her forehead glistened with sweat

“Come on Sansa, now you’ll get better…” he said hopefully.

She raised a hand but was so weak the movement died half way so he took it between his as she tried to focus her gaze on him: “hey, you’ve finally said my name…” she whispered, smiling slightly. Then she fainted…


	14. Sandor

**BUMP!**

The edge of the sword chopped the tree trunk and a big piece of bark flew through the air.

 _It's your entire bloody buggering fault!_ He thought angrily as he ripped the sword from the tree's trunk.

**BUMP!**

_You stupid dog! You couldn't leave her alone, could you? You had to drag her to the North, following a stupid hope so she would depend on you._

**BUMP! BUMP! BUMP!**

_You wanted to play knights and maidens and now she's dying!_

_AAAARRRRRGGGG_!

**BUUMP!**

The last and strongest blow shook the entire tree from the root to the last leaf. Sandor left the shaking sword stuck in the trunk and rested his hands on his thighs, breathing furiously. His hands were sore and his body ached, but at least the pain would distract him from his feelings for a while.

It'd been two days since they arrived at the old house, and nothing had changed. She lay unconscious on the straw cot night and day, wrapped in her cloak and all their blankets, next to a fire he never let die. He cleaned her forehead with a wet clean fabric from time to time, trying to lower the fever, and watched her at nights, but she hadn't gotten better. The snowstorm had now abated somewhat He spent most of the day chopping wood and hunting, while the old man kept the fire going and tried to cook the little roots and vegetables he could find surviving under the snow. Sandor noticed the man was afraid of him, though he tried to help because of the coins he'd given him. Maybe he thought there would be more if she finally recovered.

At night, Sandor heard her raving; sometimes asking for her mother and father, others yelling the name of her brothers. Always calling for dead people. Once, she had clearly said his name in her dreams; his real name. He'd taken her hand then, but she didn't even notice. Those moments only made everything even more painful and unbearable—if that was even possible.

_I should have never taken her with me. Never! She would have been safer with that woman, Brienne; she could have protected her better than me. Around me, there is only death._

Feeling guilty was new for him; he rarely regretted any of his decisions or acts he committed in his life, but the ones related to her were something difficult to deal with. Besides, there was another question he was avoiding so far: what would he do if the girl died? He was there because that was what she wanted, but nothing waited for him at the Wall, or anywhere really. _Damn me. I need a wineskin of a good sour red wine. Maybe I could drink to death._ But the only thing they had to drink was melting snow.

Every night, the two men sat by the fire to eat the root soup the old man had prepared. He usually didn't talk too much; maybe he was afraid of saying something inadequate. But that night it seemed he'd gathered the courage to finally ask the question he knew was bothering him.

"Is she your wife?" he asked.

It had taken him three nights to make the question. Sandor stared at the fire, holding a bowl of soup in his hands. That's what he'd told at the inn to avoid suspicion, although it seems that was an eternity ago. "No." The man opened his mouth to say something more, but in the end he didn't dare.

"Where are we?" he asked instead. "Is this ruinous house of yours any close to the Wall?"

"The Wall? Don't know… four or five days ride, I guess."

 _So close…_ he thought looking where Sansa laid _. Come on girl; come back from wherever you are…_

Sandor lay on the cold floor next to her, resting his head over his arm as he watched her. She was shivering and frowning as if dreaming. The fireplace lit her silhouette and drew strange shadows on the walls. It was going to be another long night.

"Lady…" she murmured in her dreams. He woke up and knelt by her side; that was the first time she called for someone he didn't know. " _Lady_!" she said again shaking her head. Then suddenly she opened the eyes and looked confused around until she met his gaze. She looked clumsily for his hand so he grabbed hers into his and squeezed it. "Welcome back," his voice was thick and nervous and that was the only thing he managed to say. She tried to smile but coughed instead. He helped her to sit up and handed her a bowl with water and she drank it slowly while he held her tight in his arms fearing she would faint again.

"How do you feel?"

"So weak…" she said in a faint voice, "but… I'll get better. I'm not going to die… not now that we are so close…"

He nodded and she rested her head in his chest as he buried her into his arms; "We are going to make it, little bird," he said and the knot that was tied in his throat was finally undone.

It took her two more days to feel strong enough to go on the road again. It had finally stopped snowing and shy sunbeams showed at noon between the clouds, slowly melting the snow settled on the ground. There wouldn't be a better time to leave.

The morning of their departure, while he packed their few belongings she went to say goodbye to the old man; she hadn't forgot her courtesies after all.

"Thank you for your hospitality. I'll be always grateful to you," she said.

The man might think he couldn't hear him and lowered his voice: "I knew your Lady mother, you know. I saw her once, traveling with Lord Stark. You resemble her, but more beautiful, if you let me say it. I don't know what's happened to you, but your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you," she whispered. Sandor frowned, angry, he didn't like at all that the man had recognized her, but what could he do? Kill him? She wouldn't like that. He waited for her on Stranger then helped her up onto the horse. Once again feeling her body against him gave him a strong feeling of comfort and confidence. Then he pulled the horse bridles and they rode again into the wood.

"I want to thank you too," she said softly next to his ear.

"Thank me for what?" he grunted, "for almost letting you die in that storm?"

"No. For taking care of me so I recovered". She tightened her arms around him and rested her cheek over his back, and he knew she was smiling then. He stroked her hands again, as an old habit between them, deeply pleased, despite himself.

 

 

* * * 

It wasn't until a day later that they were finally able to make out the Wall. Its impressive solid ice structure stood out from the canopies of the trees, still far away, but closer than ever. She tapped him on the shoulder and pointed away. "Look! It's already there!" When she chuckled he couldn't but to smile a bit too; in two or three more days, their hopeless journey would finally be at an end. He had fulfilled his part, and now it'll be her bastard brother who had to protect her. That made him feel satisfied, though inside him, a black cloud overshadowed his heart as he realized his time next to her was about to end too.

Her mood improved the rest of the day until they stopped to camp at night, when she kept silent for a long time, deep in thought.

"What is it?" he asked her.

"Oh, nothing…It's just…I was thinking of Jon and…I'm worried…what if he doesn't want me there? What if he doesn't want to help me? It's been too long since we have see each other."

"He will," he said, though he wasn't so sure. "If anything I'm sure about, is the high sense of honor of your family. He may be a bastard, but he's still Ned Stark's son. I bet he's as stubborn and loyal as your father was."

"But if not, what would I do?"

"We'll find a place, little bird. Somewhere, there still must be a place in this bloody kingdom where you can be safe"

She smiled at him, her eyes slightly narrowed as she usually did when something pleased her, and that grin sent a wave of warmth over his chest that gave him goosebumps like a boy. He realized he liked the idea of continuing to travel with her, endlessly, feeling her chest pressed to his back, sleeping next to her every night and stroking her hands…only, that wasn't what she wanted. She needed a safe place, a home where she could rest warm every night and wake up surrounded by people she could trust. And it was his task to find it.

It was already dark so they went to sleep as warm as they could, wrapped in their cloaks. She rested with her back to him, breathing quietly. He ran his fingers again over the wound of his side and immediately, the memory of her hands touching his body returned to him as vivid as if it had been yesterday. Two more nights, maybe three and she would no longer be sleeping so close to him. Unwillingly, that sense of loss made him feel empty for the first time in his life, and at that moment, Sandor couldn't help but to stretch out his arm to touch her shoulder with his big hand, sliding it down over the fur cloak to her waist. As she didn't complain, he moved closer to her and hugged her body tight, pulling her back against his chest. She sighed, taking his hand, now resting over her belly, and tangled their fingers. He got a glimpse of her shy smile and kissed her temple softly, feeling how the emptiness vanished as he was aware that, even if it seemed impossible, her slim body fit perfectly into his. And that new emotion made him feel good.

The next morning he was already awake when she woke up and turned towards him. "Good morning," she whispered. He could feel her breath on his burned skin as she said so. So many weeks, and it still felt awkward hearing those words every morning. She was so polite she couldn't help but to be polite as if she was in a castle dealing with knights and lords. Nobody had ever said that to him before and even less, a beautiful woman so close to him. He clenched his fists and avoided the urge to stroke her face.

"Let's move. There aren't many miles left before we arrive," he said as he raised and stretched his body.

In a mimetic movement she stretched her arms too and then they were on the move again, riding straight to the huge iced Wall. Sandor had never been this far north before and he had to admit to himself that if was stunning. Standing next to its base, one should feel like the tiniest and most insignificant person in the Seven Kingdoms.

The day passed by quiet and cold, but they had become accustomed to the harsh climate now, even at night, when the chill was worse and the fire barely warmed them. That night Sansa lie to sleep close to him as if this was the most usual and natural habit in the world. He buried his nose in her hair and secretly enjoyed holding her again between his arms maybe for the last time. _One more day,_ he though _t, and everything will be over…_

"We are arriving today, aren't we?" she asked eagerly next morning

"Aye. Only a few hours ride. But then we'll need to find Castle Black., at the northern end of the kingsroad. There's where your brother should be."

"Fine, let's go then!"

They were riding for barely two hours when a bright reflection on the ground a few steps on the right caught her eye. "Look! Isn't that water?" she wondered. Sandor pulled the bridles of Stranger and he diverted his path to the place she had pointed at. It was water, actually: a small lake located in a hollow, surely produced by melting snow because of the sun in recent days. They dismounted the horse and she ran to kneel to its edge to wash her face. He approached too; he knew he was completely covered by dirt and was eager to wash his scar properly. Even Stranger seemed to need it too, because he also came closer to drink.

"Oh, I long for a proper bath…I've never been so dirty…" she was saying.

He watched her washing; she was really a mess now, with that threadbare dress and her tangled and knotted hair. He bet she also had earned plenty of bruises and small cuts all over her body during the journey. She looked so different now from when he met her… different but somewhat better.

"Look at you, when I first met you, you were supposed to become a queen and now you have to wash yourself in a dirty pool in the middle of a wood!" he mocked her.

"Oh, you may have forgotten I've seen you winning the Hand's Tourney and then wearing the bright armor of the Kingsguard, and now you are in the middle of a wood with a failed dirty queen," she answered annoyed. "And be sure, you look far worse than me!"

She looked so funny frowning, upset showing on her pretty face, he couldn't help but to laugh at that. She relaxed her expression too and turned it into a smile.

"Fair enough, girl. I guess…"

 **"STOP YOU THERE!"** a man's voice yelled suddenly behind them.

Sandor turned quickly, drawing his sword from its scabbard and standing right in front of Sansa, trying to cover and protect her, but they were quickly surrounded by six men on horseback, all of them dressed completely in black.

"Damned wildings! How did you fucking get to this side of the Wall?" another one asked.

"We are no wildings, you bastard!" Sandor snarled.

"Really? Though, you look like them, dress like them and I can swear for the Seven I've never seen a Westerosi woman fighting with sticks and stones! Hahahaha!" all of them laughed with him, so he turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder. She stood at his back with a concentrated gaze and had managed to grab a thick branch with one hand and a stone in the other.

_What the seven hells do you think you are doing, girl?_

She read his face: "I will not let anyone touch me, or hurt me or rob us again. I couldn't stand it anymore, not at this point…" she whispered.

Though she was brave, that wasn't going to save them in that moment. He studied the situation; he could try to fight them, giving her enough time to mount Stranger and run away alone to the Wall but if he failed she was going to be captured. So he tried again:

"I guess you scared her with those ugly faces of yours!" he rasped out "I'm telling you for the last time, we are no wildings!"

The men hesitated and Sansa took the moment to step forward, throwing away her improvised weapons.

"I know you! You are men of the Night's Watch! Please Sers, my companion is telling you the truth. We've come a hard long way from the south to reach the Wall. We come to meet the Lord Commander."

The man who seemed to be in charged looked askance at her and frowned, "What for? Nobody travels so north alone!"

Sandor put a hand on Sansa's shoulder, warning her about what was going to say next.

"I…" she faltered for a second "I have news from his family. Important news I need to tell him in person. This man here is my guard."

"The men of the Night's Watch have no family, girl," he grunted.

"But he once had. And I'm sure he'll want to hear what I have to tell him. Please, Sers, let us go our way."

The man stood thoughtful. "All right, I'll let you go," he finally agreed, "But I don't trust you, so two of my men will lead you there. And be sure they won't hesitate to kill you if you try something!"

 _Let them try_ , Sandor thought, turning his mouth into a twisted wolfish smile. But she got it; as she got them to pass through Moat Caillin. That was her better skill, the one that let her survive so long at Kings Landing and at the Vale: she really knew how to deal with people. She'd been trained for it since she was a child and now she made perfect use of it. _She's good at this. She'd have been a good queen._

They mounted on Stranger and rode again; though this time they were escorted to the left and right by two men while the other four kept watching the south of the Wall. When a few hours later they made out Castle Black, less than a mile away, she hugged him tight at his sight.

Castle Black was one of only three strongholds still manned by the Night's Watch. Actually it was not a true castle, as it had no walls to defend it to the west, east, or south. Only the Wall stood to the north. It just consisted of several stone towers, most of them almost in ruins, and some wooden keeps. The two brothers made them stopped in front of one of the towers

"You two stay here," said one of the rangers. "I'm going to look for the Lord Commander."

They dismounted and Sandor grabbed Stranger's bridles. There was plenty of movement in the Castle; knights, wildings and brothers of the Night's Watch seemed to be working together, though no one paid attention to them. Sansa grabbed Sandor's arm and pressed against him; he could feel her nervousness.

"Please, don't leave me alone. I need you to stay by my side now," she asked him. He nodded and tapped her hand. Guard her? Fine, that was something he was really good at.

"My men say you wanted to see me" a deep voice asked behind them, "So, what do you want from me?"


	15. Sansa / Sandor

“What do you want from me?” a deep voice asked behind them.

Sansa froze and looked up at Sandor. He nodded, _That’s what you wanted, remember?_ his eyes were telling. She finally found the strength to turn around and face him. Jon stood in front of them, dressed in black and flanked on both sides by two men of the Night’s Watch. She looked into his eyes and waited, allowing him enough time so he could recognize her.

Jon wasn’t the child she remembered from Winterfell, anymore; he had become a tall and strong man, with dark brown hair and grey eyes so dark they border on black. He had changed but he still had the traditional Stark features—a long, solemn and guarded face that gave nothing away. Although an ugly scar crossed his eye from the forehead to the check, his visage was like their father’s and Arya’s—the face of the people she loved. Sansa shivered, overwhelmed by memories and feelings, trying to contain the tears in her own eyes.

Jon stared at her firmly until, little by little, a trace of recognition appeared in his eyes.

“Sansa, is that you?” he murmured.

She nodded slowly, frightened and happy at the same time.

“But… what are you doing here? How did you travel so far alone? Are you all right?” at that moment his eyes went from hers to Sandor’s, and he frowned.

“Yes, I...” Sansa followed his gaze and understood then, but it was too late.

“I know you, Hound,” Jon’s said with harder voice “You were Joffrey’s sworn shield. We heard you went craven.” he smiled ironically “Aye, even a bit late, news reached here too. So what’s a Lannister dog doing with her so far from his masters?”

Sandor snorted but didn’t say a word yet.

 “Have you kidnapped her? Because if you are trying to get some kind of ransom, you’ve come to the wrong place!” he growled.

“What? No, he’s helping me…” she tried to explain stepping in front of them, but none of them were listening any longer.

“Bugger you, boy!” Sandor snarled behind her.

“I may be a _boy_ ; but I can have you arrested by my men, dog!” Jon’s companions stepped forward drawing their swords.

“ **NO**!! **Please stop**!” Sansa yelled standing between the two men and raising her arms. “Jon, please, he’s with me because I asked him to help me to reach the Wall.” Jon looked confused at her. “I flew from Kings Landing. Then I was in the Eyre, but I ran away from there too and since then we’ve been travelling to here for a long time…”

“What for? What do you want?”

“To ask for your protection,” Sansa simply answered. But the Lord Commander wasn’t so easy to convince. He frowned:

“A raven carried the message that you and Tyrion Lannister had killed King Joffrey. I don’t know if I should protect you…”

“I didn’t kill him, nor did Tyrion. Please Jon, I’m begging you. Let’s us stay and rest for a few nights at least. You are the only family I have left and I… I don’t have anywhere else to go…” Her voice broke; she was about to cry.

Jon’s attitude seemed to soften a little. “All right, Sansa. You can stay a few days. But he’s a Lannister man, he has to leave.”

“ **No,** ” she stated with a firm voice. “Sandor Clegane is with me. If he leaves, I’ll leave too.” Sandor lay a hand on her shoulder, “Don’t worry, girl. You’re safe now. I’m leaving.” She shook stubbornly her head, “No. We both stay or I’ll go with you.”

Jon hesitated for a moment. “Fine, stay. But if you make any trouble or I have any complaint about you, I’ll kick your dog ass from here. Grenn, Pyp, arrange two cells for them in Hardin’s Tower. If anyone asks, just tell they are simple travellers asking for a place to pass by the night. I don’t want this to get King Stannis’ ears before I could talk to him.” The two black brothers ran to fulfil the orders they were given. “Now you two came with me,” Jon said to them. “Let’s make a visit to Three-Finger Hobb’s kitchen. I bet you are starving.”

The Night’s Watch’s kitchen was as austere as the rest of buildings of Castle Black, though the big fire warmed the place and the smell of whatever Hobbs was cooking made them salivate. They sat at a small table at a corner of the room while Jon talked with the cook and then took a seat in front of them. Some minutes later, Hobb came with two big bowls of stew, with onions, carrots, vegetables and plenty of meat, and two big ale mugs. They ate greedily, without taking into account any good manner. Sansa ate until her stomach ached – no meal had ever been so delicious for her in her whole life, and Sandor asked for another once he’d finished.

“For the old gods!” Jon exclaimed “When did you eat properly for the last time?”

“I don’t know… long ago,” Sansa said, “I guess it was when my mare died and we had to eat her meat.” She looked at Sandor and he shrugged. “Then it snowed and there wasn’t much hunting in the forest...”

Jon blinked in astonishment. “Did you really survive the last snowfall all by yourselves in the middle of the wood? It was a hard one; even some on my men had to retreat back to Castle Black when it started! I’m really surprised you did it.”

“I almost didn’t, I fell sick. But here I am now” She smiled slightly to Sandor as she remember how he took care of her and that look didn’t go unnoticed for Jon.

“You really are a North’s daughter, aren’t you?” he said in amusement. “Now tell me what happened to you to run with so many risks to get here”. Jon leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Clegane, maybe you should leave now.”

“It isn’t necessary, Jon. He can listen to whatever I may tell you. In fact, he already knows most of it,” Jon frowned, though didn’t complaint; his curiosity was stronger.

“I guess it all began the day King Robert came to Winterfell. I thought that was the beginning of my life, but it was really the end…” Then Sansa told him everything, from the beginning, all the incidents and feelings she had kept inside her heart for so long. She told him about the journey to Kings Landing, the lies of Joffrey and the death of Lady. How the Lannisters butchered their guards at the Red Keep and how they killed their father. About Cercei and the Tyrells and about Joffrey and the beatings of the king’s guard. At that point, Jon set his jaw and Sandor tensed on his seat, clenching his fists and looking away. She put a hand over his fist and shook her head. _No. There was nothing you could have done_ ; she tried to tell him with her gaze.

When she recalled how she was forced to marry Tyrion, she realized she didn’t feel anything at all in that moment, neither for him. He was no one in her life, and she didn’t feel like a wedded woman. Then she told how she escaped from Kings Landing, about Littlefinger and her aunt Lysa, and Dareon and the new wedding with Harry the Heir. She told them about Petyr’s kisses and groping and how he even tried to get into her bed several times. Sandor didn’t know that part, she had never talked about it, and she felt how his body tensed. Sansa remembered also with affection how Brienne came in the right moment to help her and how they ended up in the Quiet Isle with the Hound, and then the rest of their journey together until that day.

Jon listened attentively in silence, barely asking until the end of her story. “You knew all that, Clegane?” he asked then.

“Most. Now you know why you should help her, boy.”

Jon nodded thoughtful, “Could you please leave us alone now for a moment? I’d like to talk to my sister in privacy.” Sandor looked at her for her approval before leaving “I’ll be outside,” he said.

Once alone, Jon sat beside her. His face was still serious. _What did you expect? Having a tearful reunion after so many years? He barely knows you now,_ Sansa thought bitterly.

“Do you really trust this man so much, Sansa?”

“I do. And I hope now you understand why. He’s the only person who hasn’t wanted anything from me in years.”

“I’d like to help you Sansa, but the situation at The Wall right now is… complicated. As you saw when you arrived, we made a deal with the wildings and they are now occupying part of the Castle. Stannis Baratheon is here too, it’s a long story but I’m not sure what is he going to say about your stay here. He is a very straight man and in the end, you are a Lannister for him. You are accused of killing his nephew.”

“I understand” Sansa looked sadly at her lap and kept silent.

“I miss them,” she said softly after a while.

“Who?”

“Father. Brann, Robb, Rickon, Arya. My mother. Old Nan, Mikken, Jory, Jeyne… I miss them all. All the people I loved are dead or disappeared… I know we weren’t very close when we were kids, but I’ve missed you too, Jon. We are all that remains from the Winterfell we knew in our childhood…”

Finally, uncontrollable tears fall from her eyes. They came from a very deep sadness, a sadness beyond the pain, the cold and the hard days. It was a sorrow for the happy time already lost, for the untold words, for the beloved people that were gone. Jon passed his arm around her shoulders and pressed her to him. He felt sad too for the people they both loved and they wouldn’t ever see again, for Sansa and for the revenge he wouldn't be allowed to hold against the Lannisters for all the pain they’ve caused for their family. They remained that way for some time, until Grenn came into the kitchen and they separated.

“Excuse me, Lord Commander. Their rooms are ready.”

Sandor waited outside leaning on the wall and he walked toward her as soon as he saw them leaving the kitchen. Suddenly, a huge white wolf came running through the Castle to where they were, scaring some men.

“Ghost!” Sansa gasped. The wolf walked in silence to her and sniffed her for a moment before licking her hand. She knelt to caress him, “You are so big… I guess Lady would have been as big as you…” she whispered. Then the wolf sniffed at Sandor too and after the man scratched his neck, he went to stand beside Jon. He seemed surprised, “Well, it seems he likes you two! That’s good news, I think. Now, go have some rest. Grenn will guide you to your cells, but don’t leave them until I call for you. I want to deal some issues with King Stannis first before he meets you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Jon said before leaving followed by Ghost.

Grenn lead them to Hardin’s Tower, where the stewards had prepared two separate cells on the second floor. “This’s yours, my Lady. I’m sorry we couldn’t offer you anything better for now,” Sansa looked over the place; it wasn’t big, but it was comfortable enough for her after so many weeks sleeping in the forest. It had a thick cot at the bottom, some rustic furniture, a hearth that warmed the room and, best of all, a bathtub. “I’ve commanded to one of the stewards to come as soon as possible with hot water.”

“Thank you for everything, Grenn. This is much better than I could have expected,” Sansa said gently. The boy blushed and went red like an apple when she smiled at him. Sandor snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yours is that one at the end of the corridor Ser,” he stammered avoiding looking at Sansa again.

“I’m not Ser, boy. Don’t call me that again,” he grunted.

The boy looked at his feet and added “I notice that you have very little luggage and your dress is threadbare so… I wonder if you’d like new cloths… maybe I could get something for you.”

“Please, that will be very nice of you. I’m afraid I don’t have the proper garments to meet anyone. I guess my companion will need a new tunic and breeches too.”

“I’ll see what I could find, my Lady. Good night,” He bowed his head and left, leaving them alone in the hallway.

Sandor laughed, “Seven hells! Poor boy, he just had a crush on you”. Sansa blushed too. “Don’t mock him. He’s just trying to help. And I long for a bath and a clean dress…”

“Hope that water doesn’t take long. I need that bath too,” He looked at her and for a moment it seemed he wanted to add something more but he didn’t. “Get some rest girl.” He finally said before walking to his cell.

“Sandor,” she called when he was about to enter the room. “Do not go. Please.”

He looked back at her frowning. “Promise me that you will be here tomorrow, that you won’t leave during the night.” she said looking straight at him. He nodded and then closed the door behind him.

A black brother brought hot water for the bath some minutes later. Sansa undressed and threw all her cloths to a corner of the room before getting into the bathtub. The water was so hot it burnt. She closed her eyes and rested lazily in the water for a while before washing her hair and rubbing her skin so hard it ached; though, actually, she enjoyed the pleasure of feeling clean again. When the water began to get cold she came out of the bath and sat in front of the fire to dry herself, and then she brushed her hair thoroughly; freeing it from all the knots that had been done in it during the long days travelling.

The cot was as comfortable as a featherbed and she felt relaxed and calm under the thick fur blankets. That was the first night in months she could sleep for long; without caring for the cold, the hunger or fearing what was going to happen on the morrow. Jon would try to help her and at least they’ll have a safe place for some days. That was much more that she would have wished days ago. She crouched on the side of the bed and unconsciously felt a thrill on her back. He wasn’t there anymore. She was sleeping alone again, without his strong arms holding her and his body keeping her warm and suddenly she felt that solitude as a heavy burden. She thought of him, resting now in the other room. Would he feel lonely too or would he feel relieved of not having to take care of her again instead?

_Does he miss me too?_

 

*  *  *

 

Sandor looked at the ceiling. He’d had a bath and he was now lying naked on his bed, letting the heat from the fire dry and warm up his body. It had been a hard long day, but finally they were at the Wall, where she was safe, at least for a while. He didn’t like the Lord Commander, he was a sharp man, as was his father, but he’ll try to help her and that was the only thing that mattered to him. He ran his fingers over his chest to his side and touched for the thousandth time the scar caused by her stitches. It was true he’d thought of leaving the Castle during the night, leaving her safe with her brother. He didn’t want to be where he wasn’t welcome, but somehow she had known. How could she read him so damn right? He thought of her looking at him from the door of her cell, asking him to stay. He couldn’t leave; he was tied up by her words. _Do not go..._ He stretched out his arm to the other side of the bed, but her absence made a hollow in the cot. _Don’t be stupid, dog; she won’t be sleeping with you anymore. You were lucky to have her for a few nights_. But the truth doesn’t make it easier. Would she be relieved by not having to sleep next to him again?

He looked back on the days spent together at the wood; the men he’d killed, the nights huddled under their cloaks, the cold, the hunger, the long days she was about to die. He also recalled her sewing the wound, her hands touching his skin while making the bandages, her bright smile the first time it snowed, her cheek over his hand, her lips again his, her tongue tangled with his, her moaning in his own mouth, the pressure and warmth of her slim body against him those last nights… Now, alone in that small cell at the end of the world he finally released his desire and let his excitement grow as he closed his eyes and lowered his hand down his body to touch himself eagerly and freely; feeling as it had been yesterday how she surrendered to him without reservations. _I’m just a woman,_ she’d said to him that night. And he was just a man; a man who also needed a woman and who already missed her so badly that it hurt.

 


	16. Sansa

She realized before even opening her eyes that it was late. How long had she been sleeping? Surely longer than she should have, but it was so comfortable in the cot, she didn’t want to ever wake up. She enjoyed a few more minutes resting lazily under the blankets before getting up. It was cold now; the fire had almost died and there were only some embers left in the hearth of the chimney. Sansa wrapped up in her cloak and cracked the door open to peek outside the cell. A black brother stood there, watching the corridor.

“Do you need anything m’lady?” he asked.

“I… hum… what time is it?”

“Noon has long passed. Do you want me to bring you something to eat?”

“Thank you, I’m really hungry. What about my companion?”

“He’s in his cell. He’s already eaten, twice in fact. The Lord Commander has expressly ordered me to not let you leave your chambers until he calls for you.”

“All right…”

“Oh, take this,” he handled Sansa a package. “Grenn told me to give it to you. He said he’s sorry but this was the only he could find.” Sansa took it and then the man left. Once in her room she opened it and found a simple gown. It wasn’t fancy, like the ones she used to wear at the Eyrie, but it was clean and quite nice, and it suited her perfectly _. Where had he found it_? she wondered, _I must thank him later for this favor_. The package also contained a pair of warm leather boots to replace her old ones. She thought of Sandor, if Grenn would have also been able to find some clothes for him. He was such a big man it was probably a difficult task.

Some minutes later, a man brought her a tray with her meal. He also relit the fire and she ate warm and alone. Time passed by, though no one came. She was beginning to get nervous, that situation made her feel like being a hostage again, but finally someone knocked at her door.

“You have to come with me. The Lord Commander is waiting for you,” the man said.

Sansa nodded and prepared herself. She brushed her hair and arranged her dress the best she could. Then she grabbed her cloak and left the cell. Sandor was already waiting there and he stared at her up and down.

“You look better, girl,” he grunted.

“Thank you. You too…” she muttered, and it was true, the hours of rest, the proper meal and a good bath had transformed the wilding by which he was mistaken just a day ago into a simple man. His black thick hair was clean and properly combed, hiding the worst part of his face. He wore a clean tunic and breeches, his cloak had been brushed down and his sword was clean of dirt and blood at his waist. Though he wasn’t less impressive with those new garments he somehow looked less terrifying and more northern like. Sansa realized she was running her eyes over his body as if it was the first time they met, enjoying what she saw and she had to look away so she wouldn't blush.

Jon waited for them outside the tower, Ghost by his side.

“Did you rest well?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you Jon”

“Good. King Stannis wants to meet you at his chambers in the King’s Tower.” Jon looked at Sandor “I think you shouldn’t come, Clegane, I’m not sure you will be welcome”

“Bugger Stannis!”Sandor snarled “I’ve already deal with him at Kings Landing; he thinks no one is worthy for him. I bet he hasn't smiled his whole life.”

“I’m not going anywhere without him,” Sansa quickly replied.

Jon seemed annoyed but he agreed, “As you wish. Come on then.”

The King's Tower was a hundred foot tall round tower with merlons atop it, overlooking the gate and the foot of the wooden stair leading up the Wall. It was reserved for honoured guests, though no king had visited it in over a hundred years, until then.

King Stannis’ chambers were located on the second floor, where a knight with a red heart embroidered on his chest announced them before letting them in. The room was more spacious and better furnished than the other buildings they had visited so far, though it was as cold and austere as the rest of Castle Black. Stannis Baratheon sat in a big wooden chair at the bottom of the room, flanked by a red woman and his ugly wife, Selyse Florent.

Stannis studied her with his dark blue eyes for a long moment before deigning to speak.

“Lady Lannister, what an odd coincidence that we met in this distant place of the Realm.” His voice was free of any kind of emotion.

Sansa bowed her head in respect, “Yes, my Lord”

“Your _Grace_ ,” Pointed out the red woman. “He’s the only true King of the Seven Kingdoms, girl”

Sandor snorted at her back.

“I see you haven’t come alone, apparently you brought a dog with you” he continued“ Clegane, I haven’t heard from you since you fled the battle”

“The battle you lost, as I've come to understand” Sandor growled. Stannis ground his teeth at that impertinent remark and gave his attention back to Sansa.

“Why did you come here, My Lady? Do you expect to somehow get Winterfell back? Don’t you think I’m not aware that you’re accused of killing Joffrey Lannister.”

“I did not kill him, your Grace. And no, I don’t intend to do so for now. I just need a place to stay for a time. It’s been a hard journey.”

“Hmm…we’ll see…Maybe your presence here can be of any use…” Stannis thought aloud.

“Pardon me, your Grace, but I don’t know how that could be, I’m alone and I don’t have any allies… I would be very grateful if you just let me be with my brother…”

“You’re a beggar now, girl,” Lady Selysse stated. “You’ll do what you are commanded. If not, I’m sure there will be more than one who would like to warn the Lannisters about you.”

“Shut up, woman,” Stannis told her wife. “You’re not a prisoner here,” said the king. “Be calm, no one is betraying you, though maybe we can arrange some kind of deal together. Now go, I’ll call for you if necessary.”

He waved his hand and the knight opened the door for them to leave.

“That’s not the first time I've been called a beggar—my aunt told me so too. But now she is dead” Sansa said angrily once outside, rage filling her. She was a Stark of Winterfell; nobody should call her that. But for the moment, that cold place was all she had. And it was almost enough.

“Bugger that woman, she’s disgusting! She even has more moustache than you Snow!” Sandor mocked.

“Shut up Clegane! You better show her more respect if you two want to stay here longer,” Jon told him, “Fine, if Stannis doesn’t mind you being here, I guess there’s no problem for you to stay or to move freely around. Now, I have matters to attend to, Grenn and Pyp will help you with anything you need.”

Sansa smiled at him, that was good news and she was grateful. “Thank you. I promise you won’t have any problems, Jon,” The Lord Commander began to walk away but he turned before leaving:“Just try to pass unnoticed. If you could,” he finally said.

“Would you help me to find Grenn?” she asked Sandor “I’d like to thank him for the cloths he got us.” He snorted but followed her. The man was training some boys in the courtyard and he went to meet them as soon as he saw Sansa. “Everything’s aright m’lady?”

“Yes, we just wanted to thank you for our new garments. I guess it must been difficult to find them,” she said.

He scratched his neck and looked at his feet “I asked one of Queen Selyse’s maids for it. I know it’s not worthy of you but you know… there aren’t many women here…”

“Oh, it’s perfect Grenn. And thank you too for his clothes.”

Sandor just snorted and looked around for something. “What in the seven hells have you done with my horse, boy? If anything happens to that animal I swear…”he said angrily.

“I think he’s in the stables. They’re over there, next to the Silent Tower,” Grenn answered.

Sandor began to walk where he had pointed, without saying a word, and Sansa followed him. “Please,” she said, “don’t be so harsh to him; he’s just trying to help.”

“Do not fool yourself, girl, he’s helping _you_. He couldn’t even look me in the face” he snarled. Sansa didn’t know what to say. All those weeks travelling alone through the Realm had made his burnt face so familiar to her that she didn’t even notice it, and she had forgotten that not everybody saw him the way she did. She felt sad for him.

Stranger was really at the Stables. Sandor caressed his snout and back softly and smiled to himself. He always seemed a different man while taking care of his horse. She sat next to them and watched how he isolated himself and began to brush him carefully, how he fed him or how he checked his horseshoes. Time passed quickly there and before she noticed it, lunch time had already passed.

During the following days, Sansa took long walks with Jon around Castle Black. They talked about their lives since they separated, about their fears and hopes and for the first time in years also about their family. They recalled them fondly and the fact of being able to talk openly about them helped them somehow to relieve the deep wounds their loss and years of silence had caused in their hearts. And so, little by little they began to fabricate a brotherly relationship they didn’t really have at Winterfell. Sansa began to get to know her half-brother better; that wasn’t an easy life and he’d chosen it for the Realm. Important things were happening beyond the Wall and Jon Snow and The Night's Watch were the only ones that were aware of them. She realized she was proud of him and she thought their father would have been too.

During those walks she also began to recognize the people living there. It was a strange mixture of characters; the black bothers, the wildings all dressed with furs and animal heads and the King’s men, with their southern colors and their bright sigils, looking suspiciously at everybody else. Ned Stark always said to Robb that he should know the name of all his men, and in a way Sansa tried to do the same; learning the name of everybody and greeting them with courtesy.

They usually ate alone in their cells or in the kitchen after everybody else was gone. She also began to sew a new dress, remembering her Septa's lessons while Sandor took care of Stranger, or fixed his armor and sword at the Armory.

The day the dress was finished she tried it on and looked for him. He was at the stables again; it seemed to be his favorite place in the Castle. He looked at her making her blush. He always stared at her that way lately, a deep gaze full of longing that made her shiver.

“I did it by myself,” she said just to break the moment.

“Too fine for this place,” he rasped out. “Are you going to use it to visit the stables?”

“No. I thought I can use it to have dinner with the others. I’m tired of being alone.”

“I’m not sure your brother likes the idea.”

“Me either, but we could try. Please,” she begged.

He shrugged and followed her to the Common Hall. The room had large wooden tables where the men of the Night’s Watch sat to eat. One of them was reserved for the Lord Commander and his closest men. Although the Hall was crowded at that hour, a great silence fell over when Sansa entered the room accompanied by Sandor Clegane. She took a deep breath and walked towards Jon’s table bowing her head to the men she knew as thousands of eyes followed them. Jon was frowning when they reached his table.

“What are you doing here?”

“Please, don’t be mad at me. I just thought that if they are your new brothers then they are also mine. I’d like to sit with you too if you don’t mind.” She said the last words looking at the men around them. Everybody had heard her and an odd wave of pride ran through those hard men as they murmured softly in approval. The Lord Commander looked at Sandor who just shrugged and finally invited them to sit in front of him. A steward brought two dishes for them and soon the Hall was full of conversation again.

Sansa talked politely with the men at their table and peeked from time to Sandor who sat by her side. The dinner passed by quietly until an ugly and bald steward came into the Common Hall. The man was in charge of the ravens and he gave a letter to Jon.

“It’s just arrived this afternoon, my Lord. It’s from Kings Landing. I thought you would read it as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Clydas”. He waved a hand and the man left. Jon read it immediately and then stared at Sansa. “I think you should read it too,” he said. Sansa took the piece of paper and unrolled it. As her eyes ran eagerly through the words, she put a hand over her mouth and gasped.

“This is…”she muttered looking at them. She smile widely and handed the letter to Sandor. He took the paper and read it as Sansa rested her head over his shoulder and closed her eyes, not caring who could be watching them, only allowing herself  be close to him at that moment.

 

_To Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch._

_My Lord, I have taken the liberty to write you as you are the sibling of Sansa Stark. I'm aware that it's possible you may not have heard of her in years but as her brother, and from what I know, her last living sibling, there are some issues I think you might want to know. As she commanded me, I went back to Kings Landing and told Jaime Lannister the information she gave me. Jaime ordered the arrest of Petyr Baelish for the murder of Joffrey Baratheon and Lysa Tully. He has been tried and sentenced to death. As I am writing you, Ser Illyn Payne is doing his duty with him. Tyrion Lannister has also been acquitted though nobody knows of his whereabouts since almost two years ago when she fled from his prison and is considered dead._

_I wanted you to know that Sansa Stark didn't murder Joffrey; her name is clean now and she can wear her Stark name with pride. Last time I saw her she was heading North with Sandor Clegane. If you ever meet her again, please try to help her. I hope she is safe and wish her to be happy; she really deserves it; she is a very special and strong woman and you should be proud of her. If you have the chance, please tell her I haven't failed her and that if she ever needs me, I'll be ready to help her as I promised Lady Catelyn._

_Brienne of Tarth._


	17. Jon / Sansa

“Ghost, with me!”

The cold breath swirled around his mouth as the white wolf ran towards him. Jon scratched his head and the animal adjusted his pace to his. As they walked on top of the Wall, the wind blew and snowflakes whirled around them. He needed time to think and this was the only place in Castle Black where he could really be alone for a long time. Brienne of Tharth’s letter was still in his pocket; an old little piece of paper that changed everything for his sister. Those words meant more for her than being acquitted of the death of Joffrey Baratheon; that letter determined that there was, again, a living Stark free from the Lannister’s manipulations. If Tyrion Lannister was presumed dead, Sansa was free to marry again, to whoever she needed in order to reclaim Winterfell. And anyone in the North would recognize her as her father’s heir. But he was aware he wasn’t the only one in noticing it. It’d taken him two days to tell King Stannis about the missive. The King’s countenance hadn’t changed when he received the news, but something had shone in his gaze, a bright and intelligent spark in his hard eyes had betrayed him. Stannis had known, as had Jon before, that Sansa Stark was the most important piece to make the North fight for him in his quest to sit on the Iron Throne.

Jon looked southbound, to the Seven Kingdoms. He also wanted a Stark in Winterfell; that was how it should always be. Not long ago he had rejected Stannis’ offer to legitimize him in order to claim the ancient Stark’s keep. He knew he wasn’t a true Stark and that wasn’t his fate, but it really was Sansa’s. He’d like to help her, though he knew that wasn’t his fight. His fight was north, where the dead rose from their graves, coming up slowly, but surely to the Wall to breach it, killing and destroying everything that was known. Winter had already come, a long night was about to happen and he and his men were all that lay between death and the Realm. When the time came, what did it matter who sat on the Iron Throne?

_They really know nothing, nothing at all._

He shouldn’t care about the game of thrones the kings and lords played, but he couldn’t help but think about his current problems: the wildings, Stannis, Sansa and Clegane. He was pretty sure Stannis would conceive a plan to use Sansa in his favour, and it was very important for them to anticipate it. His sister seemed to be relieved and happier since Brienne’s news. It had been a real shock to find her at the Wall; a beautiful grown woman that had little to do with the child of his memories. They had arrived there hungry, dirty, tired and scared but little by little they had gotten used to the place. He was aware of how men looked at her; with a combination of respect, admiration and desire, yet she had won her place between the odd mixture of people that were living at the Wall during those days. Southern knights knew who she was and wanted to please her to get her favour. Her elegant pace left the black brothers dazzled when she walked around the Castle, especially the younger ones. The free folk didn’t care about tittles, but they appreciated beauty and Jon was sure that to their eyes she was what southern queens should look like. They also loved her hair— _Kissed by fire_ , they called her though he didn’t like it; Ygritte had also shared that colour, but she hadn’t had any luck. _Ygritte_ … Her memory still filled him with sadness. How she would have laughed at his men for taking Sansa for a wilding the first time they met her! The two of them were so different though they were also strong women, each in their own way. _I’m sure you’d love to meet a proper Lady. I miss you…_

Whatever it was, she had won their trust, even Sandor Clegane’s. Jon still couldn't figure out what had really happened so that two people from such different births were so dependent on each other, but he realized they had developed a strange and strong bond beyond loyalties or titles. They made an odd companionship; he had been a Lannister man, a soldier who sold his sword for money, though Sansa had nothing to offer him when they met. Clegane watched her fiercely and over-protectively, and she trusted him blindly, looking for his eyes for approval before making any decision. She smiled more often when he was around and didn’t care if anyone saw her touching his arm, or resting her head on his shoulder, as she did the night the raven arrived. Although Jon didn’t like him, he was glad his sister finally had someone to trust completely after all of the misfortune she had been through. He felt she was going to need a friend in the days to come, and with that in mind, he finally decided it was time to talk to him.

Sandor Clegane was at the Armoury; he usually spent most of his time there, or with his wild horse at the stables. He sharpened his sword thoroughly, so focused he didn’t even notice Jon’s presence for a few moments.

“I’ve talked to Stannis about the letter,” Jon said as Clegane was still working. “He just told me he wants to see us two before dinner. I do not trust the supposed calm that he has shown; I bet he’s planning something.”

The man put down the sword to look at him. “Why are you telling me this, Snow?” he finally grunted.

“I can’t interfere in politics, Clegane. King Stannis…”

“King? The King of the Ice, you mean!” he replied contemptuously.

“Don’t underestimate him. He wants the Iron Throne, he wants the North to fight for him and Sansa is Ned Stark’s daughter. I’m pretty sure he’ll try to use her in some way and I need you to stay alert.”

The man frowned, “Since when do you trust me so much?”

“I don’t, but she does,” Jon simply stated. “You don’t have to do it because I’m asking you, but for her. She’s safe for now though she’s still pretty alone and will need someone to advise her.”

Clegane stared at him for a long minute, during which Jon thought he was going to send him to the seven hells, but finally accepted.

With that tacit agreement between them, both men left the Armoury and remained in silence for a while, watching the courtyard where Grenn was training some boys. Not so long ago, Jon had been one of those new recruits; prideful but still green as summer grass.

“There is something else I need to talk about. Have you ever thought about taking the black? We need men like you at the Wall,” Jon said.

Clegane burst out laughing, “And let my balls freeze in this shitty place for the rest of my life? I’d prefer to burn in the seven hells! Sorry boy, but I’m still not tired of enjoying life!”

“Why not? You have no wife, no lands; you don’t even have a place to return to. Your sword will be very worthy here, and you won’t lack opportunities to use it, believe me.”

“You, the lords and knights, always trying to get other men to obey your oaths…”

His voice was hard and low but Jon realized he wasn’t talking to him at all, anymore, but rather to himself. “The only vow I gave in my entire fucking life, I broke it the day your sister came to visit the grave of the Hound. I swore a vow of silence to a man I trusted and I forgot it at the same time I saw her again. I won’t make the same mistake twice, so spare me your oaths, Snow! I don’t care about your vows; I don’t care about anything related to this place…”

 _He talks like a wilding_ , Jon thought.

 _You know nothing, Jon Snow_ , Ygritte’s words echoed in his mind. _Don’t you see?_

Jon watched him carefully. He was looking away into the distance, at the Wall beyond the courtyard. His burnt face was a mess of horrible scars that twitched as the man seemed engrossed by his own thoughts. _He’s in love with her,_ he realized _. That’s why he’s helped her without asking for anything; she’s the reason why he doesn’t want to join the Night’s Watch…_

“You know you can’t have her, don’t you?” he finally replied as low as he could “She isn’t meant for you. One day she’ll marry someone worthy of her birth and you’ll have to let her go.”

Sandor Clegane didn’t say a word for a long minute. “The day she doesn’t need me anymore I’ll get drunk, take my horse and I’ll leave.”

_I wonder if she knows it…_

The Lord Commander broke the silence “Anyway, I don’t want anyone idle at Castle Black. You’ll have to earn your place, so you can help Grenn to train the new boys. They could use the help of someone new and skilled as you”

The big man looked finally at him; he seemed to like the idea. “Seems fair.”

“Fine. You start this morning.”

Jon left him and went looking for his sister at the King’s Tower. Queen Selysse had asked her to join her and her maidens for breakfast, so he found them at the Queen’s chambers, where a southern knight announced him.

“Excuse me your Grace, but I need to talk to Lady Sansa.”

Selysse nodded and she left with a bow. Once outside, they walked together as Jon told her about his reunion with Stannis and his request of meeting him that evening. Sansa didn’t seem worried about it, instead she was relax and carefree. He continued talking about other issues until he noticed she wasn’t listening to him anymore, in fact she had diverted her attention to the training yard, where Clegane had joined Grenn and was yelling instructions and orders to the boys.

“I asked him to help with the training of the new recruits,” Jon explained as he followed her gaze. She was watching how Clegane moved quickly between three men and got rid of them with two hard blows.

“You did well, he’s very skilled. He’s the best warrior you could have,” Sansa’s voice showed how proud of him she was.

“It's too bad that he isn't even a knight.”

 _“I like dogs better than knights,_ ” she stated with a slight smile, as if it was and old joke of hers. “Thank Gods no, he isn’t. No knight has ever moved a finger to help me.”

Jon frowned. “I do not think it wise to display that you've grown fond of him,” he warned her.

“Why? Because he hasn’t sworn any oaths? Because he has nothing more than a sword or because his birth is lower than mine?” Her sister’s blue eyes stared right into his. “We are who we are despite titles, family names or embodied sigils on a cloak. I learnt that at the Eryie. No one cared of me and men didn’t respect me just because I was supposed to be Petyr’s bastard daughter, though I was always the same person that I am now. Unfortunately, you were born a bastard Jon; do you think it’s fair that people judge you just by that?”

Sansa’s words removed something bitter deep inside him.“No,” he had to confess.

“So please, don’t judge him by what he isn’t,” She gently interlaced her arm with his and smiled at him again. “He’s kept me safe for a long time and that’s the only thing I care about.”

At the courtyard, the men kept fighting and the sound of the steel came to them through the cold air.

“I’ve seen how he looks at you, Sansa. He wants you.”

His sister blushed and shivered slightly, though she didn’t stop watching him in the distance.

“I know…” she whispered.

 _May the old gods forget her because she feels the same_ , Jon realized with concern. _Not only_ _does_ s _he respects him, but also wants him._ He could finally see it in the way her gaze kept track of Clegane's every move, in the shy smile she gave the man when he peeked at her in the distance, or in the confident way her eyes narrowed when she was pleased of how he could fight them all.

_What a strange world, Ygritte; crows falling for wilding women and highborn ladies falling for lowborn soldiers, while war tears everything apart. How you would have enjoyed this!_

 

* * *

 

That evening, Sansa’s feet were heavy as stone as she climbed the steps back to her cell. She tried to think of a plan, a great idea or just something that would allow her to avoid being the center of other men’s plots again, but her mind didn’t seem to work properly. Not in a hundred years could she have imagined what the meeting with Stannis had prepared for her.

“Be careful with him, I don’t know what his plan is yet,” Jon had warned her as they walked toward the King’s Tower. He looked serious and thoughtful, though he was always that way lately and she had tried to calm him, because actually, why should she fear a king without a kingdom after all she had been through? How wrong she’d been…

On their way to the meeting, Sansa had caught a glimpse of Sandor who was still training some of the boys. The man had seen her too, and she’d noticed he didn't lose sight of her, a worried look on his face. _Please, don’t be worried too_ , she remembered having thought.

To their surprise, the King’s chambers were crowded. Stannis and Selysse sat in the centre of the room and were surrounded by his court; the red woman was there, as well as plenty of knights of the Stormlands; even Selysse’s maidens stood behind their Queen. Sansa made a graceful bow in front of them and waited next to the Lord Commander for the King to speak.

“Lady Sansa, as you may know I’ve been informed that you’ve recently been released from the charge of regicide hanging over you,” Stannis said with his characteristic impassive tone. “You should know all of us are glad of the news.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“So, because of this good news, I’ve decided honour you.”

“H-honour me, Your Grace?” she stammered.

“My Lady, I’ve decided to marry you to one of the Queen’s men, Ser Patrek of King’s Mountain, one of my most trusted men. Ser Patrek, please,” The king waved a hand and a clean-shaven and windburned man stepped forward, and bowed his head to her. His knightly raiment was of white, blue and silver and his cloak a spatter of five-pointed stars. “Once you are married I’ll take back Winterfell from the Boltons, and the Starks will rule the North again as they have always done. Of course, in exchange you’ll support me in my claim to the Throne. The ceremony will be as soon as possible,” the king stated.

Winterfell. Home. That was all she had always prayed for, but she wasn’t prepared for that. The thought of another arranged marriage made Sansa shudder and she felt like her legs wouldn’t hold her any longer.

“I am very grateful,” she said cautiously, “though your Grace may have forgotten I’m already married. You called me Lady Lannister the first time we met.” She said with a gentleness she was far from feeling. Ser Patrek smiled with arrogance at her and suddenly her stomach ached, and she knew she couldn’t bear it; she wouldn’t let them do that to her again.

Jon was tense by her side and tried to intervene in her favor. “I think we should discuss this issue in private, your Grace.”

“Nonsense,” Stannis claimed ignoring Jon’s words, “Lady Sansa will marry Ser Patrek if you want your Keep back. The Imp may be dead, and anyway, I’m sure we could make a deal with a Septon about your previous marriage.”

“No, I won’t,” she had stated, her voice strong and clear, echoing against the stone walls. “I beg your pardon, your Grace, but I will marry no one.”

A wave of angry whispers had filled the room in that moment. The Queen clawed her nails in the arms of the wooden chair, and Stannis clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth. Sansa made a farewell bow and left the room, walking with the grace and the pride of a northern Queen.

“Don’t you think this has been your last word, my lady. Think about it, where will you go when you can’t stay here any longer? You know you have nowhere to go!” she heard Stannis saying as they left.

Sansa’s strength began to fail her once they were outside. She was panting and shivering. Wasn’t the Castle even colder now?

“What were you thinking? You shouldn’t have said that. Stannis won’t forget this affront,” Jon had told her.

“I could not bear the thought of marrying again against my will! I don’t need another husband.” _I don’t want anyone who doesn’t love me in my bed again…_

“Even for Winterfell? It wasn’t such a bad deal, I think…”

“Not at that cost. I can’t… I’m sorry, Jon, I know I promised not to make any trouble…” she felt suddenly very tired and had run to Hardin’s Tower, seeking solitude.

 

Now that she was alone, she felt sad, angry and powerless all at once. As she shuffled down the hall toward her room, she noticed a dim light coming out of Sandor’s cell. She approached silently and peered through the ajar door. His tunic was lying in a corner of the room and he had his bare back to the door. Sansa watched him in silence as he washed quietly and thoroughly cleaned his hair, face and arms in a big wooden bucket. She realized she felt a curious peace being part of that little moment of his intimacy; his mere presence soothed her, like something rather familiar and heartwarming. A part of her was eager to tell him about what had happened; sure he’d know what to do about it, but another hidden part of herself didn’t want him to know she might end up married to other man. How would he react? Sansa wasn’t sure she even wanted to know the answer.

He lifted his arms to wring out his hair and her eyes followed the water drops that slid from his black hair down his back until they died at the waist of his breeches. His skin was a war landscape of old and fresh scars of all kinds of sizes, but beneath them there were strong muscles and a body full of life. _“I’ve seen how he looks at you, Sansa. He wants you_ _,”_ Jon had said. The memory made her body shake so intensely that the skirt of her dress brushed the door frame. Though it was just a soft noise, he heard it and turned quickly meeting her guilty gaze. Sandor reached the door in two large steps and opened it completely.

"Didn’t you learn how to knock, girl?" he growled.

She blushed embarrassed and looked at her feet to avoid his gaze, as she couldn’t even mumble a meager apology. Neither of them said a word for what seemed an eternity, until he moved aside and let her walk in. Only a pair of candles lit the small room, which was even smaller than hers. He was so close when he closed the door and turned to her…

"I’m sorry…" she finally managed to mutter.

He stepped forward; his big shadow projected on the stone wall. Sansa stepped back until she lay against the wall and finally stared at him.

_He wants you, Sansa._

“How did the meeting with Stannis go? Everything’s all right?”

“I-I don’t really know…”

He frowned and stepped forward a little bit more. She was now cornered between him and the wall.

“What has happened, little bird?”

 _That the only time I wasn’t a pawn in this war was when I was running with you,_ she wanted to tell him. _That I want you to take me again and run far away but now we have nowhere to go..._

Still waiting for an answer, he inadvertently touched his left side, where she noticed her stitches had left a thick, soft, pink scar. Instinctively Sansa raised her hand and touched it slightly with the tip of her fingers.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked in a whisper.

“Not usually, though now it’s burning.”

Her hand was attached to his skin and she couldn’t remove it, indeed, she stared at how her fingertips stroked gently his side as she realized how badly she had missed his body next to hers all those days. A trail of butterflies fluttered over her belly and flew away, thrilling her body with a newly discovered excitement.

“You shouldn’t be here, Sansa. Come on, go now” Sandor said in a hoarse voice, though neither of them moved.

Standing between the man and the cold wall she found herself shaking her head and smiling as she heard him saying her name for the second time in months.

_He wants you…_

“There is no need for you to do this, little bird,” he objected weakly, though at the same time he raised his big hand very carefully and stroked her cheek with his knuckles. She held it and rested her cheek in its calloused palm.

"I know, but I don’t want to be anywhere else," she whispered.

When Sandor pulled her towards him, his strong hand forced her to rise to receive his mouth. She tasted the taste of salt water, snow and sweat as his tongue slid inside her lips, slow but relentless. Sansa felt the wetness of his body through her dress as she pressed closer to him and surrounded his body with her arms, enjoying his closeness.

_He wants you…_

“Ask me to stop, little bird, because I won’t do it by myself,” he groaned in her ear. Then he lifted her easily and carried her to the cot where he sat and placed her on the floor between his legs. Now they were the same height and she was trapped between his strong tights, arms and body and her face was in front of his. She took it gently with both hands and very slowly, her lips began to mark a trail of kisses all over the burnt side; from his forehead to his cheek, through the bone that showed on his jaw to what was left from his ear, trying to erase with her touch the pain and the nightmares that burned flesh had meant. He moaned as a wounded animal would, as if it hurt, but when her lips finally reached his mouth, he ate hers with an eagerness that made her mind fly away. As they kissed, she dared to slide her hands over his shoulders and felt the tighten muscles of his back under her palms. His were all over her body, filling all her senses and giving her goosebumps.

_I want him too…_

With quick and expert fingers Sandor began to undo the laces of her neckline and kissed her there and she couldn’t help but tangle her fingers in his wet hair, threw back her head and completely surrendered to him.

Suddenly, strong knocks sounded on the hallway next to them.

“Sansa? Are you there?” Jon’s voice called her.

She gasped, startled of the voice and Sandor covered her month with his right hand while held her waist with his left. They heard how Jon’s steps approached until he knocked again on Sandor’s door. Sandor tightened his grip.

“Clegane? Have you seen my sister? I need to talk to her!” he asked from the other side of the door.

“No! Now leave me alone Snow!” he rasped out.

They felt how Jon hesitated for a brief moment, but finally he left. Sandor took his hand from Sansa’s mouth and she breathed deeply. He had not released her yet.

“I should leave and meet him or he’ll suspect,” she muttered.

He nodded without taking his eyes from her. She tried to mend her dress and stepped back to leave, but he grabbed her wrist fiercely and yanked her closer.

“You still owe me a song, little bird,” he groaned with a tickly voice.

A slight smile showed at the corner of her mouth as she stroked his cheek, and in that simple gesture was a whole world of promises.


	18. Sandor

**Sandor**

* * *

 

_“I am the crude sap of a spring field,_

_I climb the sand and see how they yield._

_Tell me what you see in my gestures,_

_Now look at yours to see what you’re doing._

_I'm like the rain, I splatter when I fall._

_Tell me what you see under my lips,_

_Now look at yours to see who deceives_.”

 

The melody filled the Common Hall as the song held dozens of hard men spellbound. The words were more than simple music—they were like a magic spell, that soothed hearts and let minds travel to an unknown land, where no man had set foot so far—and Sansa Stark was the sorceress that had made it possible. She stood at the main table, sharing the song with them as if it was something unimportant; simple words that just flowed from her lips to the world like the most natural thing. But it wasn’t. It was strange and different, and every inch of Sandor’s body knew it was meant for him.

He’d been late for dinner, and could only find a seat at one of the bottom tables, but even from there he could hear clearly how she had offered to sing a song during dinner time as a gesture of gratitude for letting her stay there. “I hope it lets you forget your hard day, at least for a few minutes,” she had said, and all of them had cheered her, as there were not many distractions to enjoy at the Wall. She had explained that according to the tale her Old Nan told her, thousands of years ago a wilding man disguised as a bard, had sung this song at the Winterfell Hall to seduce the Lord of the Keep's youngest daughter. He told her he had learnt it beyond the Wall, from the elders of the village he lived in, and it was supposed to be an ancient lyric that the first men had learnt from the children of the forest. Whatever it was, he had never heard it before; but Sansa’s voice was crystal and its unusual prose and rhythm had left knights, wildings and black brothers dazzled alike. Only she was singing it just for him. He knew it with the same certainty he could still feel the ache he had under his breeches when she left. When she stood to sing, her eyes had flown over the Hall and she had smiled mischievously when her gaze had dropped absently on his. His skin still soared where she had touched him. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly he almost didn’t let her leave his cell… and she wanted him too. Who in the seven hells would know why, it made no sense for him, but Sandor wasn’t going to question it even once. So many things hadn’t made sense for so song he didn’t fucking care anymore.

 

_“I don’t care if it’s yes or not, I control the game,_

_But not in your eyes, in them I left my life._

_And if I lose sight of them, where would I live?_

_If in your pupils I left my chambers within._

_I don’t care if it’s hot or cold, I control my wounds_

_But not in your eyes, in them I left my life._

_And if I lose sight of them, where would I live?_

_If in your pupils I left my chambers within”_

 

He drank another gulp of brown ale from his flagon as the song—his song—covered the atmosphere with a veil of unreality; like they were in a bubble out of time, not at a frozen and forgotten place nobody in the Seven Kingdoms cared about. Sandor realized he was frowning in disgust at the men that surrounded him; all of them were staring at her between awestruck and lustful. _She_ _is mine!, h_ e thought in an abrupt burst of anger. Did any of them know what she really needed or wished? Who really cared for her, not for her family name? No one. Many of them would marry her just to try to claim Winterfell, ignoring her after, and many others would have raped her if they had the opportunity to meet them on the road.

He was bringing the cup to his lips again when a southern knight sat on the bench next to him. Sandor had seen him around Castle Black sometimes, always next to the Queen. Ser Patrek of whatever, he was called.

“Nice song, and beautiful singer,” he said softly, pointing at her with his chin, though Sandor didn’t even look at him. He was still listening to her, it was his reward and he deserved to enjoy it.

 

_“I'm like a chord that holds a story,_

_I'm a mess, as hell and glory._

_Tell me what you see under my armor,_

_Now look at you to see what you're hiding._

_I'm like a cloud before the clap of thunder,_

_Sometimes I’m the hunger, I hurt when I appear_

_Tell me what you see under my fur.”_

“I bet there is honey sweet under that garment,” the man said smacking his lips and waving his head like he was undressing her with his eyes. Sandor held the instinct to smash the mug in his face and break that ugly nose of his, but it seemed the man wasn’t done yet. “Anyway, I’ll find out soon, when Sansa Stark is my wife,” he finally said with a nasty smile.

Sandor snorted and drank again, “Keep dreaming man, that will never happen!”

“Oh, but it is happening! King Stannis had betrothed the Stark girl to me this same afternoon.”

Blood ran cold through Sandor’s veins, “What the hell…?” he could barely mutter as he finally turned to look at the man.

“Didn’t you know?” Ser Patrek made a weird chuckle with his mouth and he realized he had provoked the situation on purpose and was enjoying Sandor’s confusion. “His brother knows it too, it’s a shame they didn’t tell you about their plans to recover Winterfell.”

Then he finally understood. Her refusal to talk about the meeting, the worried look she had when he discovered her at his door—that was all about her marriage. But then why come to his room, why let him kiss and touch her, why the wordless promise, why the song, _WHY?_

Sandor stared at Sansa again as she sang the chorus beautifully, smiling at him as she had been doing the whole night, so beautiful that looking at her hurt. But now he could feel a pit in his stomach.

 

_“I don’t care if it’s yes or not, I control the game,_

_But not in your eyes, in them I left my life._

_And if I lose sight of them, where would I live?_

_If in your pupils I left my chambers within._

_I don’t care if it’s hot or cold, I control my wounds_

_But not in your eyes, in them I left my life._

_And if I lose sight of them, where would I live?_

_If in your pupils I left my chambers within”_

 

The song. The bloody buggering song. So warm, so meaningful, so full of veiled promises he couldn’t take it anymore. And he realized he could neither bear those men any longer, as he couldn’t bear the thought of any other man being with her. He finished his flagon and rose to leave, but not before taking another full flagon from a black brother who sat next him. He felt he was going to need it.

“I’m sorry man!” he heard Ser Patrek saying in a mocking tone as he walked toward the door seeking for fresh air.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw how Sansa’s glaze followed him, but he didn’t dare to look back. He was angry, disappointed and empty and he knew for certainty he couldn’t look her in the eyes again, so he left the Common Hall without looking back. The night was cold and windy and the song that once was meant for him was about to end.

 

_“And I left over your belly my pillow,_

_And I left my future written in the trunk of a weeping willow_ …”

 

* * *

 

Sandor leaned against the wall of a nearby building and finished the flagon of ale in one long swig. Even from the outside he could hear as the men cheered Sansa’s performance, whereas deep inside him, he hated them all. He walked away from the building and noticed that his steps were clumsy and his eyes were blurred. _Dammit! I’m getting drunk…_

He hadn’t walked but a few steps when he heard footsteps approaching hastily. Of course, it had to be her. She couldn’t leave him alone even at that fucking moment.

“Sandor, please wait!” she called to him “Why did you leave so suddenly?”

He kept walking, trying to not turn to look at her, but she hurried and finally reached him. He made an effort to look up at her and when he did he saw the reflection of his anger in her eyes. She was scared of what she was seeing in him.

“What has happened? I thought you’d like the song…” she said in her usual kind voice.

“Why don’t you better go and ask to your new husband?” he reproached her bitterly.

Her eyes opened wide and they shone in the moonlight “I-I’m so sorry you heard that but it’s not…” she tried to explain.

“Stop apologizing girl, you’re always fucking sorry for everything! Be getting used to assume what you do!” he barked at her.

“B-but it’s not true!” she stammered.

Sandor grabber her arm and dragged her to a dark area of the courtyard, out of sight of onlookers.

“Such a pretty thing and still such a bad liar! After all you have endured, haven’t you learnt to lie better, little bird?” he growled as his iron fingers clenched her forearm.

“Please, Sandor, you’re hurting me…let me explain…” she begged. She looked scared of him again, which fed his anger.

“Did you enjoy singing tonight? Well, great for you! For now on you’ll only have to sing for that stupid knight of the Queen! But tell me little bird, when you came to my room, what was that about? Was it your farewell, the way you thought a dog must be paid for his services?” he snarled while he shook her by the arm as if trying to shake out an answer out of her.

“No! You are not being fair, I-I’d never…I just…” she muttered with tears filling her eyes “I didn’t mean that!”

 “Bah! Lies over lies…” He said before finally free her arm. He stepped back and turned to walk toward the stables, away from her.

“W-where are you going…?”

“Somewhere; anywhere away from this place. I’m sick of all of you. You stay to play knights and ladies with the king and your brother, bet they’ll enjoy it,” he snarled angrily. _I should never have let you leave my room today…_ His unsteady steps led him to the stables, where he saddled Stranger and rode through the main gate.

 

* * *

 

Sansa stood paralyzed as she watched his hulking figure disappear into the darkness. After a few moments of shock, she cleaned her tears and walked to the stables with cautious steps. She tried to quiet her heart, though she feared what she was going to discover there. She had felt so clearly his disappointment, his jealousy, his frustration…he exuded so many harmful feelings that she had recalled the times he still lived at the Red Keep. But the worst were his eyes...it’d been so long since his eyes weren’t so full of rage! He’d scared her so much she couldn’t even find the right words to explain to him what had really happened. If only he had listened to her!

Her legs faltered when she finally found out Stranger’s stables were empty, from both rider and horse. _He’s gone,_ she realized. Suddenly the certainty of his absence filled the air with heaviness and pain. Her shoulders weighed as if they carried a heavy burden. She took a few steps toward a hidden dark corner where no moonlight entered. Lowering herself over the ground covered with straw, Sansa pulled her knees to her chest and huddled as warm tears began to fill her eyes. She cried silently, feeling an overwhelming loneliness nobody but her would understand. She had never felt so little and defenceless.

_He’s gone. He is gone. He is gone..._

* * *

 

Stranger ran like a thunder through the main gate into the darkness as his rider spurred on his flanks mercilessly forcing him to run faster and faster. Night was cold and his heavy breath swirled in small white clouds around his snout as they rode down the King’s Road. Nobody tried to stop them and that was for the better; Sandor Clegane’s mood was such that he would kill anyone who tried.

_Bugger Stannis! Bugger Snow! Bugger all the inflated bastard knights who ever lived in this bloody Realm!!!_

**WWWWWOOOOORGH!!!!**

His howl echoed all around the road until his throat sored. Didn’t the woods know his world was falling apart? Didn’t anyone care? _Bugger me! Stupid old dog, you’re such a fool!!_ Her brother had already told him that someday she’ll marry someone worthy of her, but who would have thought it’d be so soon? And why didn’t she tell him by herself? Maybe she feared his reaction, though who doesn’t? He was a man to be afraid of, that was the way it had always been. Only sometimes she’d managed to make him feel... something unexpected he hadn’t ever dared to imagine before. But the reverie was over now and the rough reality had taken its place.

_Damn you girl. Damn you!_

If only he could hate her! That would make everything easier. Though that was impossible.

He’d heard that some nights the black bothers left Castle Black and went to a small village called Mole’s Town to dig for “buried treasures” so he decided to go there. _Everything could go to hell; I need a good sour red wine. Or a whore. Or a fight._

Mole’s Town's main tavern was easily recognizable because of the red lantern that hung over the door. Sandor tied Stranger outside and came in. The place sucked even more than the inn where they stopped to sleep during their journey. It seemed that was a lifetime ago. He sat on a bench next to the fireplace and quickly a dirty woman came to sit on his lap.

“Does my Lord need something?” she asked wickedly showing her black rotten teeth as she tried to smile. Sandor found her repulsive.

“Bring me wine” he ordered pushing her off him. The woman stumbled back and rushed to the kitchen. He spat on the ground and drank in one gulp the cup she brought him. Though it sucked, he ordered a flagon; he needed it. What else could he do? He had nowhere to go and getting drunk was as good as any other plan.

The hall was occupied by some of the worst people someone could meet. The girls were ugly and skinny and their dresses threadbare, but the worst was the smell; they all smelled of mold and sweat. As he emptied the jar and watched those women, he couldn’t help thinking back on that evening. All his scars seemed to hurt even more now that the little bird’s lips had claimed them. He put his hand over his side again and felt an unbearable pain where once she had managed to grow something warm. Now that root had been abruptly torn and there was nothing but a bloody hole. _Dammit! I deserved it for being so stupid!_ Her gentleness, her warmth, her body…the trail of good things her presence gave off wherever she was, was never meant for him. So then, that was it? Everything they had gone through together would end that way? The idea of her marrying another man again made him feel sick. _She was mine! My little bird!_

He finished the wine and rose. The room was blurred now and his steps unsure. He stumbled against the table and one of the women came and took his arm to lead him. _Bloody buggering hell, I’m drunk as a dog…_

“Night is cold, my Lord, don’t you prefer to stay here with some company?” she whispered as she tried to undo the laces of his breeches. Sandor looked at her making an effort to focus his gaze, “Leave me alone, woman!” he growled as he got rid of her hands. He wobbled when he reached the door and the wind hit his face. He managed to take the bridles of Stranger, but when he tried to put a foot on the stirrup he lost his balance and fell backwards on the ground. The hit put his stomach at the back of his throat and he had to roll to the side to vomit. When he was done, he cleaned his mouth with the back of the hand and somehow managed to creep to lie against one of the walls of the tavern. _That’s what is left of me, a drunken old dog longing for a woman too good him_. _When did you become such an idiot as to fall for her, uh?_ he mocked at himself. _Bah, I should have died by the Trident…_

Sandor breathed deeply and shut his eyes. He saw her glancing at him with a conspiratorial smile; _good morning!_ , she said as a snowflake landed on her nose. Then she huddled against his chest and grabbed his tunic. _I’m just a woman who needs to be cared and cuddled…_ He reached his hand and it seemed to him that he touched her hair. _Sandor…_ She called him as her soft fingertips stroked his face and she was smiling again at him, her eyes half-closed as she usually did when she was happy. _I don’t want to be anywhere else…_ He kissed her lips hungrily and fucked her a thousand times in his mind until he had to give a hard punch to the ground to escape from those ravings. _I wish I’d have never let you leave my room!! I should have fucked you all night before leaving you to that buggering knight!!_

A sobbing sound reached his ears and it took him a few seconds to realize it was his.

 

* * *

 

Hard kicks on his feet made Sandor squirm in dreams.

“Grrrrrr…” he complained, still asleep.

“Clegane!”

“GRRRR…”

“Come on Clegane, wake up!”

Suddenly a stream of cold water fell over his head and forced him to sit up on the ground. Grenn and Pyp stood in front of him; the latter was holding in his hand a wooden bucket whose content was now poured over Sandor’s head and shoulders.

“What the hell?!” he snarled.

“Look at you man, you look like you’ve been to hell and back!” Grenn mocked him.

Sandor threw a furious gaze at them, though they might be right. Covered in dust and mud, his head seemed to be about to break at any moment. He looked around, even though it wasn't dawn yet, he’d lost the sense of time and wasn’t sure how many hours he'd spent sleeping outside.

“What are you doing here? Did Snow order you to come to meet some girls?” he asked.

“Sansa Stark. Is she with you?” Grenn directly inquired.

“What?” He frowned at the men, “Fuck, no! Why would she come to this filthy place?”

“So where is she? What have you done to her?” the boy asked again.

“Bugger you! I’ve done nothing! Can’t a man have a drink alone? Bet she’s still sleeping!”

“No, she isn’t,” Pyp cut him off. “Jon looked for her after dinner, but couldn’t find the girl and nobody had seen her since then. She hasn’t even used her room tonight. Satin saw your horse leaving Castle Black, so Jon asked us to find you. It’s taken us a while though.”

Sandor’s head began to clear a little. He’d left her at the Wall—alone. A wave of guilt took over him. If something happened to her because he wasn’t there…

“The Lord Commander gave us orders to take you back. You have to come with us,” Grenn ordered. Sandor didn’t give a shit about Jon’s commands, but he was worried about what they’d just told him, so he agreed and rose for his horse.

The way back to the Wall was very different from what had been the night before. It was at least two hours before dawn and the bluish-white sky light spread along the King’s Road. He felt dizzy as he rode, and had to stop to vomit again under the men vigilance. When they could make out the Wall, his stomach already felt a bit better.

The Castle was quiet and with little movement at that early hour, save for Jon Snow, who hurried to reach them when they’d just crossed the main gate.

“Where’s Sansa?!” he confronted Sandor as soon as he set foot on the ground—his face a mask of seriousness, but with anger in his eyes. “Where is she?!”

Sandor frowned angrily at him. “Why don’t you ask her betrothed, Snow?”

Without warning, Jon delivered a hard blow to Sandor’s jaw that his numbed reflex couldn’t avoid, and that made him step back. When he regained his balance, he had to spit a little blood before speaking again.

“The man told me last night,” Sandor snarled, bringing his hand to his jaw and looking at him with icy eyes. “He said they were getting married, and that you agreed so you can recover Winterfell!”

“Are you jealous Clegane? That’s what all this is about? I never thought you were so foolish! For the Old Gods, I asked you to watch her!” Jon reproached him contemptuously; “Stannis wants her to marry one of the Queen’s knights but she rejected him in front of the whole court. Sansa left him exposed, and now the King is furious.”

Sandor stared at Jon as all the pieces fell into place, and everything began to make sense. Sansa had tried to tell him, but he was so mad at her he didn’t want to listen. He felt ashamed and remorseful.

“She’s not going to marry anyone,” Jon continued, “I tried to convince her yesterday evening that maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea, but she stood her ground. Sansa is stubborn; she said she preferred to run away before marrying again.”

“Of course she doesn’t want to marry,” Sandor muttered, suddenly realizing the truth. “she hasn’t managed to arrive here alive to get involved in a marriage that she neither wants nor needs.”

“She won’t marry anyone while _you're_ with her,” Jon stated with a worried look. “She hasn’t told me, but I sense it. I bet Ser Patrek wanted to provoke you so you would leave, and she would be left without her only ally. With you out of the game, it’d be easier for the King to force her to do what he wants. And you played it.”

The boy was damn right; Sandor had fallen into the trap like a rat. The two men held their gaze for a moment—both were concerned about what these new circumstances could lead to. But the worst feeling was the shame; the knowledge of how he’d treated her last night, the things he’d said during his burst of anger. He’d been a complete arsehole.         

“Last time I saw her was after the dinner,” Sandor admitted.

“Clegane, we need to find her first, before…”

“Lord Commander!!” suddenly Satin called, “Please, come here!!”

They ran to the stables, where the boy stood balancing nervously, bouncing from one foot to another. When they reached him, he pointed silently to the bottom corner of the stable. Her slim figure was barely visible; huddled as she was she seemed another small shadow at the corner of Stranger’s place. Sansa was wrapping her arms around her legs, and she had buried her face between her knees. Sandor’s blood went cold and he stepped towards her, but he was quickly stopped by Jon’s firm hand against his chest and a shake of his head. “You stay here for now,” he ordered firmly. Sandor growled but he remained outside.

Jon walked into the stable and squatted in from of her. “Sansa,” he asked quietly,touching her shoulder gently, “Sansa, are you ok?”

Slowly, she lifted a sad face and looked at him through swollen eyes.

“Jon?” She frowned trying to distinguish who he was.

“Aye. Are you ok? Why have you been here all night?”

“Oh, Jon!” she moaned. “He’s gone. He’s left me alone. He was so angry with me… I-I tried to talk to him but…” she stammered as the whimper began again.

“Shhhh…don’t worry Sansa, everything will be fine,” He smiled at her comfortingly as he cleaned the tears from her cheeks. She sniffled sadly. “But first you need to rest properly and get warm; it’s frozen here and you are shivering.” She nodded slightly and closed her eyes as she rested her head over her knees. Jon rose and waved a hand to Satin who approached quickly.

“Take lady Sansa to her cell and make sure one of the stewards lights her fireplace. Hurry up!” he ordered.

The boy bent to pick her up and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and buried her face in his chest absently while he took her outside the place.

Sandor had heard everything, he could even glimpse her just for a second, and her unhappy face stuck in his mind. He watched helplessly how the boy walked towards Hardin’s Tower, carrying her in his arms. He wanted to be the one who did it; he wanted to tell her he was back, that he’d been a bastard and that he would never leave her again. But the only thing he could do was watch how they left without her even noticing his presence. It was dawning when Jon stepped out the stable.

“She’ll be fine. Although she’s shaking from the cold, she just needs to rest. And I’m going to regret saying this, but she needs you too.” Sandor stared at him. He had also heard her and was very aware it was he who was to blame for the situation. “I don’t want to know what happened yesterday, I don’t ever dare to guess,” Jon continued, his stare ice cold, “The only reason why I let you stay here is because of her. I don’t care for the feelings you two have for each other, but I don’t want this happening again. Stannis wants her to be another pawn in his war and I can’t help her as much I’d wish. Do you truly care for her, Clegane? So dammit, act like a man! Take care of her and protect her even from yourself!”

Sandor’s fingernails pierced his palms until it hurt. He clenched his teeth and looked away. He had no words for him, so he just nodded and walked back to his cell.

 

* * *

 

A few hours later, Sandor was knocking at her door. After washing the remains of his descent into hell from last night and changing into a clean loose tunic and breeches, he had been trying to find the right words for the moment when he met her, but he was not a man of arguments, and less of words of apology or regret. He didn’t know what he could say; he simply wanted her to know he hadn’t left. Sandor knocked again, though as nobody answered, he pulled open the door, and walked into the room. He gave a few a steps toward the bed and watched her. Sansa lay curled in the cot with her back to the door. She looked so little there, so vulnerable—and so alone. He sat on the edge of the cot and touched her shoulder carefully. When she still didn’t react, he lay down beside her, his chest close to her back as he held her tight, and allowed his hand to rest on hers, now over her belly. Her slim body fit perfectly into his—his knee into the back of her knees, her hip into his abdomen, her waist the perfect curve for his arm to hug—and her warmth filled his own body making him shudder. Sandor buried his face into the soft waves of her hair as he pressed her tighter.

“Sansa,” he muttered.

 _It’s me. I’m here. I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry. I’m a bastard;_ he knew he should say, though no words were able to come out of his mouth.

“Sansa….”

 _Please, forgive me. I’m not leaving you. I’ll keep you safe. I’m so sorry…_ He tried to tell to her, but all he could pronounce was her name as a litany, the only plead of forgiveness his mind knew.

“Sansa. Sansa. Sansa. Sansa. Sansa. Sansa. Sansa….” He whispered, begged, mourned, and groaned to her with a tickly voice.

Finally he felt how her fingers gently interlaced with his, and she squeezed his hand. All of a sudden, they were in the woods once more, alone in the middle of nowhere, sharing their heat, trying not to freeze at night. And for the length of a heartbeat, it seemed there was nobody else but them in the world. Then her body began to shake slightly, before Sansa rolled slowly to his side, her hands clenched into little fists with which she gave desperate clumsy punches to his chest as she couldn’t stop sobbing.

“Don’t you ever leave me alone again!” she whimpered. “Never!”

As Sandor withstood her harmless blows, he enclosed her into his arms. His body seemed to swallow her whole until she finally stopped, exhausted from the helpless complaint, and she grabbed his tunic and snuggled against his chest. They remained that way for a few moments while he stroked her back gently, until the moan was over and her breath calmed.

“I never should have gone little bird,” he muttered, against her crown.

When she pulled him just a little so she could look at him, her eyes were red and swollen and her cheeks wet from tears, though he found her as attractive as ever.

“But you’ve come back,” Sansa whispered with relief. “I should have told you as soon as I saw you, I just… I simply couldn’t…” she apologized sadly.

Sandor wiped off the tears from her face with his thumb. “It’s alright; your brother has already told me everything,” he said before he let his hand slid to her neck and rest there.

She was so close he could only breathe the air that came out of her lungs. He got lost in her gaze, which was now confident in him again and he couldn’t help but shiver. It was because of that gaze that he still was worthwhile; it reminded him that there was still a reason to live, someone who trusted him, who needed him. No only someone, but her.

“I’ll be with you whatever your choice, until you ask me to let you go.” He promised, and though it was a meager offer, it was the truth.

She looked at him very serious: “I won’t marry him, Sandor, not even for Winterfell. He is… he is not who I want.”

Their bodies were still attached to one another and he felt every inch of the little bird’s against his. Despite having spent the night outdoors, she was still warm and beautiful—and she was in his arms. He knew he had surrendered to her long ago, but only now he realized that—sometime between Kings Landing and the Wall—she had also submitted to him. Sansa lifted a hand from his chest to brush a strand of hair from his face, allowing her fingers to rest over his neck when she finished the movement. She moved her face to his until their noses touched; then she fixed her eyes to his as if asking for permission before her lips pressed to his. That was the first time she kissed him for her own initiative and he pleaded to the Stranger it wasn’t the last. Sandor opened his mouth to receive hers and kissed her back; keeping one hand on her neck and the other all along her back. He ate hers enjoying her taste, her scent, how she pressed slightly against him, the way she tangled her fingers into his hair. Every single movement of her body aroused him. He slid his hand down to her lower back and pulled her to him so her hips brushed against his abdomen. She opened her lips to gasp when she felt his cock against her thigh but he covered it again quickly with his, joining their tongues in an endless tangle.

They separated their lips just slightly to grab breath. Timidly, her fingers had slid from his head, running over his back and were now softly pressing his biceps. Her breast rose and fell as she tried to quiet her breath. She smiled nervously and bit her lower lip before meeting his stare. Sandor licked her lips again, this time a little less eagerly, and then diverted his attention to her neck. Feeling his excitement grow unbearably, he lifted a hand to touch one of her breasts. Even over the fabric of the dress, he felt its softness and how his massive hand covered it all, as he continued kissing and sliding his tongue through the silky skin of her neckline. Sansa gasped and pressed her fingers tighter onto his arms as Sandor caressed the nipple with his thumb; its hardness, along with her body pressed against him fueled his desire. He was already hard; she should be noticing it but said nothing to stop him—little gasps and moans being the only sound that came out of her lips.

He wanted her badly. He wanted to fuck her, to possess her, to know if she was wet; it was because of him, if her nipples would still be hard if he slid his cock inside of her. With skillful and unrefined manners, his hand left her breast to lift without any delicacy the skirt of her dress. He was sure his calloused palm scratched her skin as he caressed her tights until his fingers reached the fabric of her underwear and removed it to her knees. He knew he couldn’t withstand it much longer; he was hard as a rock and lusted for her as for any other woman before. Leaning with one elbow on the mattress, he undid the laces of his breeches before setting his body over hers, adjusting his hips to hers. She let him do as he spread her legs and his hand led his cock through her inner thigh into the wetness that was welcoming him. Sandor closed his eyes and moaned at the pleasure of having her around him—the warmth, the wetness, the pressure and the cascade of feelings that being inside her caused in him. When he opened his eyes to look at her, he noticed her face winced in pain as a soft guttural groan left her half-open lips. Sansa went rigid as his eyes looked for hers. Her breathing was stirred, and though her hands still rested over his arms and she hadn’t complained yet, she now looked troubled and uneasy. Sandor stilled, suddenly realizing what the cause of her anxiety was.

“Seven hells Sansa!”

She bit her lower lip again and blushed before avoiding his stare, “I already told you. Tyrion and I never… he never…” she mumbled visibly embarrassed.

Supporting his weight with both elbows on the cot at each side of her, Sandor loomed over her as gentle as he could, though he was sure he was still hurting her.

“Look at me, little bird,” he said in his usual harsh voice an inch from her face. “I don’t fucking care if you’re still a maiden or if a hundred men of the Vale had already fucked you. I want you. I want you now and I’ll still want you tonight. I want to make love to you night and day, every single day that my fucking life allows me to be next to you. I want to eat your lips and lick your nipples and make you wet with my hands. I want to learn every corner of your pretty little body and hear you moan in my ear. I want to feel your nails sunk in my back and how you tighten against me when you come, and hold you after you’re done. I want to kill that bastard who wants to marry you so he can’t dare to ever touch you, and ride to Winterfell and take it back all by myself if that means that you smile again and I can be with you one more day. So please little bird, look at me and grant me the honor.”

When he finished, Sansa’s blue eyes were staring intently into his, overwhelmed by Sandor’s words, the closest to a statement of fierce loyalty and love he’d ever pronounced. She cupped his cheek and brought his face so close to hers that her lips brushed his.

“I want it too, I want it all…” she whispered. After kissing him again, her hips began to move up and down, slowly and tentatively at first, guided more by mere primal instinct than any kind of experience about what should be done, until Sandor’s own movement matched hers. He moved unhurriedly, trying to be careful each time he slid in and out of her, though he knew that even with all his caution he was probably still being harsh and rude with her. She still grimaced and groaned a few more times, until her body got used to his weight and thrusts and her face relaxed. Sandor couldn't stand much more. When her first moan of pleasure slipped from her lips, he felt his self-control abandoning him. Giving her a few more hard and intense thrusts he came with a hoarse guttural growl. His body tensed for a few seconds, until he came out of her and rolled undone over the cot next to her. Panting, he shut his eyes and covered his face with his forearm trying to catch his breath. It’d been so long since he’d had sex with a woman that all he was able to offer now was a miserable and painful version of a fuck.

When his heartbeat quieted, he opened the eyes and turned his head to look at her. Sansa had put down her skirt and was lying by his side, still and silent, staring at him with anticipation—probably not knowing what was expected of her in those moments. He realized she had entrusted him with the most important gift she understood she could give him, and although he was aware he wasn’t worthy of it, he kept that act of loyalty deep inside his heart. Sandor turned to her and enclosed her in his arms, pulling her close to him and brushing his hand up and down her back until she also calmed in his embrace.

“Little bird let me kill him. Let me kill the bastard”.

She lifted her face and grinned, as if amused by his words. “No. If he dies, the King will sentence you to death and after that there will be another one he’d like me to marry.”

“Then let’s go. We have already done it. Let me find a safe place for you,” he urged.

“That’s what I’d like, but Stannis won’t allow us to reach further than a mile from here, and he would send soldiers after us.”

“What about your father bannermen? There must be someone still loyal to your House, someone who could help you.”

“I’m so tired of hiding…” she answered, though then a smile lit her face, “but you’re right. Why should I be pleading for help? My House has ruled the North for thousands of years. I’m sure there must be plenty of northmen still loyal to the memory of my father or my brother. I am still a Stark, a daughter of the North. I’ve being raised here, I belong here, and Winterfell belongs to the Starks.”

Still between his arms, she raised a little to look at him.

“I can do it, Sandor. But I can only be strong enough if you are with me,” she pleaded. “Maybe the time has come.”

“The time for what?” he frowned.

“To play.” Sansa stated with a smart spark in her eyes, “Play the game of thrones.”              

 

* * *         

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Thanks a lot for all the comments you left in the last chapter, it's amazing to see there's so many people reading this! THANK YOU SO MUCH :)
> 
> * The song Sansa sings at the beginning of the chapter is from a Spanish songwriter called Carlos Chaouen called “My room in your pupils” ("Mi habitación en tus pupilas"). I’ve done a free translation of it. I like it because it has a very subtle meaning about love and it pictures beautiful images in my mind. If you want, you can hear it [here (this is the cd version)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eHnZgb15jj8) or[ here (this is only with a guitar and it’s closer to how I imagine Sansa sings it](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ewbt8pfiEg) (I like this better although the sound of the video isn’t very good)
> 
> * Remember you can follow me on Tumblr if you like. My username is chaouenmadrid
> 
> Hugs!


	19. Sansa

Sansa stared at her body under the waving surface of the water while she tried to relax in the warmth provided by the bathtub. Her pale legs were riddled with plenty of bruises of different shades and colors and small cuts, all gained during the long weeks of travel from the Quiet Isle. She looked at her right side to inspect an ugly scar she had under her breast, right in the ribs. It was a mark from one of Merryn Trant's beatings that never healed properly. Every day it reminded her of that time in her life, but also somehow showed she had found the strength to survive and to make her own path. Sansa wondered if Sandor Clegane would like her body that way—dotted with the marks her life had left on it—if he saw her completely naked. The thought made her cheeks flush. He had gone a while ago, saying that he had to join Grenn at the training yard and she had remained in bed for some more time before he left the room and she asked for hot water to take a bath. She was trembling as she entered the bathtub. And she knew she still smelled of him.

Instinctively, Sansa lifted her fingertips to her lips and then lowered them to her breast, where he had touched her. She recalled how his mere proximity had aroused her, and how she’d been captivated by the way her body had responded under his hands, seeking him, fitting his as if there wasn’t enough skin on their bodies to be in contact with each other. When he penetrated her it had hurt, but Myranda and Mia had told her about what she should expect when laying with a man and she already knew it was something neither beautiful nor romantic, let alone during the first time. Sandor hadn’t been an exception; she’d felt tiny and inexperienced under his massive body, though it wasn’t how he moved inside her, but the way he looked at her, with that odd mixture of hunger and worship, that had finally soothed her. Sansa wondered what he had felt at that moment, if by having had her at his mercy he had finally fulfilled his desires.

Her inner thighs still stung and she had also noticed there was a little blood there. She laughed at herself; how many times had Jeyne Poole and she talked about how their wedding night would be! She remembered how they daydreamed about handsome knights who would ask for their favors, and would do anything to steal a kiss from them. Jeyne would be shocked if she knew that the first man she’d ever kissed was someone as ugly and _unknigtly_ as the Hound, and even more if she told her that the first man she’d laid with wasn’t even her husband. Sansa giggled at the silly thought, realizing that the woman she had become didn’t care anymore for those kinds of matters. She had been betrothed to a monster and to men she never asked for, married by force, kissed by a boy and a man at the Eyrie and almost raped by a bard and a man during their journey to the Wall. Many women even had children at her age. Nobody would expect her to still be a maiden after all she had lived through, and she had chosen when and to whom she wanted to lost her maidenhood. After all, that had been her little victory over the people who had controlled her life since the day she left home, and somehow, she felt proud of it.

Rude and harsh as Sandor Clegane was, there was something almost gentle and knightly as far she was concerned that hadn’t gone unnoticed for her. Sansa couldn’t recall when the unnamed emotion she had felt that first day they met again at the Quiet Isle had evolved into something deeper and more solid. She had often thought of him at the Eyrie, and it’d been long since she was aware that, despite the rough manners with which he treated her at Kings Landing, he had truly cared for her. But it’d been during the longs days spent together riding though the Realm that the bond they shared had tightened in a subconscious, but irrevocable way. The short conversations they had, the looks, the proximity, the danger he had exposed himself to in order to protect her, the times she had to heal his wounds, how he took care of her when she fell ill or how he’d kept her warm at night with his body - Somehow, during all those moments came a time when his touch made her skin shiver and her heart beat faster and now her own body missed his when he wasn’t next to her. But it hadn’t been until last night, when she was certain he had left the Wall that she had realized she wasn’t able to live anymore without him guarding her. An unbearable sense of loss had devastated both of them; she’d been well aware that under the bitterness of his mood towards her there was pain and disappointment, though she had been unable to soften it with kind words. But he had returned to her, to never leave again; that she knew for certain. His crude words still echoed in Sansa’s mind; they hadn’t been words of love or promises, but words of safety and loyalty—and want. And every pore of her skin had absorbed them until they had settled deep inside her being. She did not regret for a single moment anything that happened during the last hours; not the song, not the weeping, not the loss of her maidenhood, if that meant she could feel safe and wanted and held and kissed by the man she and only she had chosen.

Feeling a newly discovered strength, Sansa closed her eyes and slid down the bathtub until her head was completely under the water. There, behind her eyelids, surrounded by the peace and solitude the water provided, there was Winterfell. Part of it was burnt and ruined, but its walls were still strong, the snow covered the ground and there were villagers working around its buildings. She longed for it to be true. She wanted it more than ever and she wanted to fight for it. Sansa surfaced the water taking a deep breath. It was time to gather the fallen pieces from last night and begin a new day.

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, the ancient map was unfolded on the table in front of her. Sansa had lost count of how many times her fingers had run over the old paper, shorting the distance between The Wall and Winterfell. She had been studying it for hours, trying to recall the names of the Houses who had lived under House Stark's leadership until that moment. Umber, Karstark, Manderly, Mormont, Glover, Flint, Cerwyn, Hornwood… She wondered how many of them she could still trust. She knew little about the Northern politics at the moment.

The map seemed to be as old as the Wall itself. She had found it in The Vaults, an underground place of Castle Black that contained the food stores and the library. It was said that in the Night’s Watch’s library, there were records and old books that even the Citadel didn’t have, covering drawings of the faces in the weirwoods, the language of the children of the forest, and even scrolls from Valyria. It had taken her more than an hour to find what she was looking for, but when she finally unrolled it and saw what it contained; she had held it tight to her breast with a confident smile.

Sansa had left the place covered in dust and spider webs and she had to sneeze several times before walking to her room. Sandor was in the courtyard, yelling at the boys about how they had to shield from an attack or how they must properly hold their swords. She stood there for a while, watching how he fought with one of them and then explained to the rest of the dumbfounded boys what he should or shouldn’t have done. It reminded her of the times Ser Rodrik Cassel had trained her brothers at Winterfell. She had grown accustomed to the unmistakable sound of steel since she was a child, and its familiar scent that surrounded her again made her feel a little like being at home.

“You fight like rats, summer boys!” Sandor was snarling as one of the boys tried to rise from the ground. “I bet even one of the wilding children could poke a spear by your white asses before you could even call for your mom!”

Sansa couldn’t help but burst out chuckling at his words; as it seemed, the hard night hadn’t calmed his usual rude manners. When they noticed her, the young brothers’ faces went red like apples before looking at their feet. Sandor turned to glance at her too.

“Stop staring like idiots and keep practicing!” he barked at them before walking toward her.

“If they are meant to protect the Realm we are fucked…” Sandor growled.

“Don’t be so harsh with them. I’m sure they’ll improve under your teaching. You’re good at this,” she said still smiling.

The two of them stood staring at each other, without knowing what to do or what to say now that they were outside, encircled by the busy life of Castle Black. Sandor’s intense gaze disarmed her and finally, Sansa broke the awkward silence as she noticed a brown bruise rising on his jaw.

“What happened to your face?” she asked.

“Your brother,” Sandor brushed his face before he added, “I deserved it.”

“I bet you did,” she said with a giggle.

Sandor frowned but finally twitched his mouth in his usual mocking grin. “I better check on those boys before they hurt themselves.”

She grabbed the scroll tighter. “I need to talk to you later, please. Before dinner, when you’re done.”

He nodded and went to join the group again.

 

Sansa stared at the map again, analyzing possibilities, trying to figure out a way home in the little drawings and names that dotted the paper. She had seen Littlefinger planning and plotting plenty of times, spending uncountable hours writing letters, thinking up ways to forge new alliances or to break old ones. She had stood then by his side in silence, watching and listening, figuring out how his mind worked. And little by little she had finally learnt the subtle art of networking, manipulation and politics.

She wasn’t sure what Jon was going to think about it. Would he support her or would he think she was just a silly girl playing castles? Winterfell had also been his home, though he had chosen a much different life and he hadn’t the duty to help her now. Sansa had talked to her brother about an hour ago, at the Lord Commander’s Keep where Jon used to deal with the Night Watch’s business. He looked fatigued with brown circles showing under his eyes, and she felt a sting of guilt knowing she has been the cause of his little sleep last night. Ghost had left his place under Jon’s table and had run for her to scratch his head. They hadn’t talked much, just a few words of apology from her and some of concern from him before agreeing to meet later.

Sansa waited in her room for them now, expectant and nervous, retelling in her mind over and over what she needed to do. It was getting dark when Sandor arrived. He nodded at her and leaned on the wall waiting for her to talk. A few minutes later Jon was there too and though he looked askance at Sandor, he didn’t bother to raise his gaze to him.

“Please, come closer. I need you to see this,” Sansa asked them.

“What’s that about?” Jon asked looking curious at the map.

“I found it in the library. This is Winterfell,” she said, pointing at the little drawing of a castle in the middle of the parchment, “and this is where we are.” Her finger slid then drawing a big circle entangling the two points. “And all this is the land our family has ruled for centuries and where the Stark’s bannermen live.”

“What are you implying Sansa?”

“I want them to know I’m here, that there is a Stark in the North again. I want to know how many of them are really loyal to Roose Bolton.” Sansa took a deep breath. “I want to call father’s and Robb’s bannermen again and try to take Winterfell from the people who murdered our family.”

Jon stared at her, his face like stone and inscrutable. He turned to Sandor, “Did you know any of this?”

Sandor simply shrugged and stared back.

“You’re well aware of the actual situation in the North, Jon; despite being so far I’m sure you are.” Sansa continued, “You also met father’s bannermen at Winterfell and know the Lords who went south with Robb. Sandor Clegane has led men for the Lannisters for years; he knows tactics and strategies on the battlefield. And I’m supposed to be a Lady, remember? I know how to do the diplomacy; how to find the right words I need to address them. If Stannis feared I did this, it’s only because he knows I can succeed.”

“You agree with all this, Clegane?” he asked him again before answering to Sansa.

“Why not?” he rasped out, “The girl has courage. And if anyone knows at this point about plotting and diplomacy, that’s her. It’s time she removes her pretty head from this frozen hole and claims what is her by right. Or do you prefer her to beg for a cot at some of your northern lord’s Castles?

Sansa searched Sandor’s eyes, finding assurance and respect in them. He had supported her unconditionally, without even knowing what she was going to ask for. A slight smile made her squint at him at the certainty that she wasn’t alone anymore.

“I don’t want anybody calling me beggar again. Don’t you want our home back Jon? I think I must try. For father and Robb. For Bran and Arya. For the people who raised us. For our family.”

The Lord Commander’s dark eyes ran over the surface of the big scroll; focused and thoughtful as they always were. “First you’ll need to gain a strong ally. Then it’ll be easier for the rest to follow,” he finally told her.

“I’ve already thought of some names…” she said with a smile. Jon nodded.

“I guess I need not suggest that you marry someone to make a better alliance.”

“I’m afraid this must be done without that possibility.”

“Alright. Then tell me what you have in mind.”

They spent the next hour talking about Houses, names, men and women of the North, calculating chances and possibilities. She learnt who rode with the King in the North and who died for him. Who were loyal and who changed his cloak. Winterfell was their priority, then to secure the Neck; Sandor pointed out. Once done with that, with all the North united again, no southerners would pass beyond Moat Cailin. She knew some of the important Houses still had hostages at the Twins, and that Boltons and Freys had too killed many northern men. Sansa realized then what should be her calling: that the North never forgets.

When the two men left her room to join for dinner she asked for paper and ink and sat to write the letters that would determine the lines of her fate.

 

_My Lord / My Lady, I am taking the liberty to address you in regard of the love and loyalty you professed to my Father, Lord Eddard Stark and my brother Robb Stark…_

 

The words didn’t flow easily at first; it seemed wrong to be asking for their help after so much loss in their families.

 

_…I am aware I am asking for further sacrifice. I know I have no right to demand your help when you are still weeping for your loved ones…_

 

Sansa could easily feel the painful losses they'd been through. These families had lost sons, brothers, fathers, husbands and friends in the War of the Five Kings and she was asking for more. Though she wished she could make them understand this was a different request; she wasn’t just asking for revenge for her family, but for justice for all the suffering and grief the traitors had caused to their beloved North.

 

_… I do not want you to join my cause only because of your loyalty to my House, but for the honor of the North itself. Those who had betrayed us have taken possession of Winterfell, not only sullying my home and the name of my family, but bringing shame and dishonor to our Kingdom…._

 

She also recalled to them the oaths that bounded them to House Stark, and wrote them about what she remembered of each one of their visits to Winterfell and what her mother and her maester had taught her.

 

_… I ask you to please join me in this quest. I know you are brave and loyal men. Let Boltons, Freys and Lannisters know that we don’t kneel to them, that the North doesn’t forgive so easily._

 

Sansa’s fingers trembled slightly before signing:

 

_Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell._

 

It was already dark when Sandor came back to her room after dinner time. He brought a mug of ale with him and stared for a while at the letters scattered over the table.

“Stannis won’t like this,” he remarked

“I know. That’s why I need to send them as soon as possible. I can’t afford for him to know about our plan before they reach their destination, and I still have a lot of work to do,” she told him.

He finally sat on the chair across the table and spread his long legs in front of him before taking a long gulp of from the mug.

She went back to her task; writing letter after letter until her fingers were dark with ink.

_To Lord Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbour…_

_To Lady Alysane Mormont of Bear Island…_

_To House Umber of Last Hearth…_

_To House Cerwyn of Cerwyn Castle…_

Blackwood, Tallhart, Ryswell, Waterman, Norrey… She wrote to all of them, taking care in each sentence, leading words of courage, hope and northern pride to each one of their hearts. Twelve letters, all similar but different, with special words for each one of the Lords they were addressed to.

Sandor Clegane sat silently next to her the whole time, leaving her to her task and making a quiet though comforting companion while he finished his drink.

Suddenly Sansa woke up as she felt a strong hand over her shoulder and found that Sandor had crouched down in front of her. She realized she had fallen asleep on the table, although she didn’t know for how long. She glanced at him through sleepy eyes as he wiped what seemed to be an inkblot from her cheek.

“Go to rest little bird,” he muttered.

He was so close, she thought he was going to kiss her then, but instead he rested his hand at the back of her neck and then slid it as his fingers followed the line of her jaw to her chin. She put her own hand over his and leaned her face in it so he could cup it. It seemed to her that his hand trembled slightly against his cheek when she smiled lazily at him. He rose then and left and Sansa felt a shiver when the warmth of his hand finally abandoned her cheek.

The next day, early in the morning, when the sun had barely risen and a soft warm orange color spread across Castle Black, twelve black ravens flew from the Rookery of Castle Black carrying Sansa Stark’s hopes toward twelve castles of the North.

 

* * *


	20. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've marked the begining of a scene with (*) If you want, you can listen to [ this Capercaillie song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sWQqmzI1sW4) while reading it until the next (*)  
> Enjoy!

**Sansa**

* * *

 

The day the first raven arrived, the little beams of sunlight filtering through the clouds melted the Wall the same way Sansa's hopes had been melting as days went by.

That day, Jon and she were studying the map again at the Lord Commander's Keep, thinking of ways to reach Winterfell and considering possible strategies. Although it would be worth nothing if the help they needed didn’t arrive. Sansa had waited, confident news would come, but after four long days of silence, her initial expectations and illusions were fading little by little. So when Clydas knocked timidly at the door and entered with a little scroll grasped tight between his fat fingers her heart stopped beating for several seconds before they opened and read it together.

She had been aware that King Stannis had watched them closely everyday day since the twelve ravens left; there was always a king's man near them or watching Sandor’s training, which left her little time to be alone with any of them without being under suspicion. So it didn’t shock her when, barely moments after Clydas had left Jon's chambers, several of the King’s knights asked to accompany her at the King’s request.

“My Lady,” Stannis welcomed her. As usual, he was surrounded by a great part of his court, “I’ve been told you have been exchanging some correspondence since our last meeting.”

“Yes, your Grace,” she answered cautiously.

“I was already warned you would do a move against me. I don’t like people plotting behind my back.”

“Pardon me, but my concerns should not affect you. It is for my own interests that I am working.”

“I offered you my help. I offered you to recover Winterfell in your name; and you refused,” Stannis hissed through clenched teeth.

“The offer was not made in terms of my convenience, your Grace, you already know that.”

“And what terms are those, you proud girl? You have nothing to bargain with except yourself. Sooner or later you will have to marry to make an alliance.”

“I still have my House Name and a fair claim. And it seems to me this should be enough for loyal men to join my cause.”

She handed him the little paper roll she carried in her pocket, the first one of the ravens that had returned. Stannis unrolled it and read:

 

“ _My Lady Stark,_

_The North Remembers. My swords are yours._

_Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbour”_

 

Sansa waited quietly until the King returned it to her.

“Now maybe we could talk again if you wish, your Grace,” she offered.

“Talk about what?” Ser Patrek suddenly exclaimed from the corner of the room, “About sending a few northerners to die at Winterfell gates? You have nothing to do against the Bolton forces! Marry me,” he added with a lustful grin, “and you'll have my knights at your service.”

“There you have your answer, Lady Sansa,” Stannis agreed “Become his wife and you’ll get what you need.”

“I’m afraid this is not negotiable,” she answered without looking at the man who had just spoken. “My father died supporting your claim to the Iron Throne. He did what he thought was right and paid for it with his life. Your Grace, I also ask you to do the right choice now. You know I’m not alone in my cause anymore. Help me to recover my father’s home, and you'll have my word that Winterfell will back you. Do what is right.”

Stannis fixed his iron gaze in her for a long moment, during which the atmosphere grew dense. The red woman who was always by his side leaned toward him and whispered something in his ear while he didn’t take his eyes off Sansa. The King finally nodded.

“I’ll give you fifty knights, no more. And I wish your word to be as strong as your father’s.”

“You won’t regret this decision.”

Sansa smiled and bowed her head as a growing whispering filled the room. But before she left the King's chambers, she could see in the corner of her eye how Ser Patrek's face darkened with anger.

The Lord Commander waited for her outside with a straight face.

“Stannis knows, right?” Jon asked worried.

“Yes, I showed him Manderly's letter. Then I convinced him to help me.”

“Really? How?”

“I recalled to him that father died for him. At least he owes me that. He promised me fifty knights, though I know that isn't enough. We'll need more men.”

Jon handed then to her another message. “This one came while you parleyed with Stannis. I haven't opened it yet.”

Sansa unrolled it quickly devouring the words. “It's from Cerwyn Castle. Jonelle Cerwyn is coming with a group of men to Castle Black to meet me!” She smiled and hugged her brother. “Oh Jon, could it be true that I can really do this?”

“I hope so, Sansa,” he muttered. “I think you should tell Clegane too.” Sansa agreed and hastened to the training yard.

Since Jon asked him, Sandor Clegane had been training the black brothers every day at the courtyard, along with Grenn. There was a growing respect for him from the boys as the days went by; they feared his temper and his hard lessons covered them in bruises at the end of the day, but they also valued his advice and respected his experience. And it seemed their skills were improving under his teaching. Sansa watched from a reasonable distance how he made them fight one against the other as he yelled instructions and mockeries alike. When he finally noticed her, she raised her fist holding the two little letters and smiled at him. He twisted his mouth into a sort of grin and nodded in understanding before continuing his task.

 

* * *

 

(*) That evening Sansa's sweet voice filled the Common Hall again. _Florian and Jonquil, The Dornishman's Wife, Seven Swords for Seven sons, The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown..._ The festive songs reflected her mood and she sang for long; almost all the ones she could remember. The men cheered and joined her until their throats ached, clapping and following the melody as they pounded the ground with their feet. She laughed, answered petitions and joined them in the toasts. The wine went to her head making her giggle and she finally agreed to sing _The bear and the Maiden Fair_ , realizing maybe for the first time of the naughty true meaning of its lyrics. She had to sing _Six maids in a Pool_ twice and make up half of the lyrics of _The Winter Maid_ as she could barely remember it. Even Tormund Giantsbane dared to sing _The Last of the Giants_ with great success among wildings and black brothers. Though not once again she sang Sandor's song nor did he leave the Hall.

When she was certain she didn't know any more songs, she left discretely, leaving the men to sing on their own (*) . Once outside, Sandor reached her.

 

“You better not go alone, I guess more than one is too happy tonight because of you.”

“I am too,” she told him. “Saw the letters I showed you? These are our way home. And I'm sure that's only the beginning.”

“Yours, not mine” he growled, “I'll help you as much as I can, but I don't belong there.”

“It could be your home too, if you wish,” she offered. But as he didn't say a word they kept walking in silence toward Hardin's Tower while the cold air cleaned a little the effects of wine from her head.

Sansa was climbing the stairs before him but stopped half way and turned to face him. "It could also be your home,” she blurted stubbornly, **“How could I call Winterfell home again if there is no one that I love to share it with?”** _Only ghosts...why doesn’t he want to understand?_

The man stared at her intently as she smiled shyly and lifted her small hand to touch his face. He climbed one more step until he was at her height. His arms encircled her waist and lifted her as easily as if she was a child as she rested her face in his scarred neck and let him carry her to his place.

 

Once in his cell, Sandor took of his cloak and tunic and threw it to the floor before sitting on the edge of his cot.

“Undress. I want to enjoy the sight of you.”

Lit only by the dim light of his room, Sansa undid the laces of her grown that fell to the floor followed by her undergarment, revealing her pale smooth skin. She had never been wholly naked in front of any man before. Feeling exposed, she tried timidly to cover her bare breasts with her hands but Sandor grabbed her wrists before she could.

“Sansa fuck! You are so fucking beautiful…”

He yanked her closer until she sat on his lap. Sansa encircled her arms around his broad shoulders as he pulled her closer and buried his face in the curve of her neck.

“I meant what I said to you,” he muttered, his breath warm against her skin, “Every bloody single word. And if you want me to stay at the damn Winterfell, I'll stay.”

Sandor stroked her back from her neck to her buttocks and then his hand slid from her waist to her breasts. She simply let him go, allowing her body to enjoy what it had longed for the last nights. He cupped her left breast in his calloused hand and then grabbed her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rubbed it before licking it carefully and thoroughly; first one then another, until both of her nipples hardened making Sansa moan. As his tongue's attention diverted to her throat, his right hand forgot her breast and slid between her inner thighs, searching cautiously until his middle finger found her soft spot and began to brush it with gentle circular motions. She shuddered at his touch but when her mouth opened to gasp, he covered it with his own lips while his tongue battled its way down her mouth.

She had tangled her fingers in his thick black hair letting him guide her to that unknown place where the hand between her legs and his tongue were leading her. A warm pleasure was beginning to fill her and when Sansa's body started to shiver slightly and her breath quickened, Sandor removed his hand. He licked his finger and grinned before lifting her and laying her over the cot. From there, she watched how he devoured her whole body with eager eyes while undoing the laces of his breeches. They fell to the floor revealing for the first time to her eyes his naked body in all its magnificent and tragedy—a powerful chest and strong arms and legs crossed with countless deep wounds and scars—the marks that had shaped the Hound’s persona and Sandor's facade for years. Sansa admired his overpowering body silhouetted against the light provided by the two candles on the table, and slowly raised her hand to him as an invitation to shorten the distance between the two of them. Sandor approached the cot and resting his elbows on either sides of her he loomed over her body until his skin covered all of hers and his face was all she could watch.

“You can't even imagine the things I want to do to you...” he whispered with dark voice.

Sansa couldn't, of course, she was just an inexperienced woman, what she knew instead was how her body wanted that man who had lusted and respected her for so long. She felt the weight of his massive body against hers, his hot breath over her breast as he leaned to kiss her neckline and his hand searched again the wetness between her thighs. She felt the pressure of his manhood, hot and hard over her thighs and how that aroused her. Sansa's hand made him raise the head from his breast and looked him in the eyes.

“Show me.”

If it was a plea or a command, she couldn't know for certain. Slowly spreading her legs, she glimpsed a quick mischievous grin on his face before he licked her nipple again. Her hands grabbed his arms as her body arched forward; offering herself to him, seeking every inch of skin that could be in touch with. When Sandor settled on top of her, she saw how he took his manhood in his hand and rubbed it against her moist folds before it found its route inside of her. Both of them moaned; his was a guttural howl of pleasure, hers only a shy soft exhale, and when he began to move inside her, it didn't hurt as much as the first time, though sometimes it seemed he could easily split her in two if he wanted. Sandor's thrusts were strong and hard but she also was aware of how he was watchful of every one of her expressions and sounds. He frowned as he stared at her; the movement of their hips adjusted and they moved together again and again and again... Sansa smiled to ease his worries and threw her head back, closing her eyes and letting all her senses be quenched by him. He laid over her kissing her neck and lips once again. Instinctively she lifted her legs and pressed her knees hard against his hip. Sandor moaned with desire and grabbed one of her buttock with his hand pressing her hips closer and leading his manhood further inside of her. Sansa's world vanished then; there were no other sounds than their heavy breaths, no other smell than that of their sweaty bodies, no other sight than his face and no other feeling than the heat and tingle that raised from the bottom of her body spreading all along her being. She wondered if she would melt right there between his arms, if she would blend with him and Sansa would simply disappear to become just a little part of him. A wave of pleasure shook her and she pressed her body tighter to his and sunk her small fingers in his back—as he'd told he'd like her to do—fearing and lusting for her release to come.

“Sansa...” he panted in her ear.

In a tiny moment of lucidity she thought she loved the sound of her name through his scarred lips and she wished he said it more often. Then Sandor embraced her and lead her right to a moment where her body seemed to explode, shaking hard, and her mind seemed to get lost in thousands of different feelings. Her lips parted in a long complaint of pleasure that was silenced by his heavy hand over her mouth.

“Shhhh... do you want the entire Castle to know, little bird?”

While she was still lost in the last waves of her pleasure he gave her a few more hard thrust, his body and legs tensed, he groaned and fell undone over her finally finding his release. Panting heavily, he went out of her and rolled to his side; though this time he reached out his arm and pulled her to him. Sansa nuzzled against him while their breaths calmed little by little one against another without saying a word.

She didn't know it was possible to feel so much and wondered if he was aware of what had just happened between them, if it had been something as strong for him than for her. Sansa looked at him searching his eyes for an answer to her thoughts. What she found disturbed her; his sight, so many times filled with anger, lust or mockery glowed now with something she wasn't sure to understand. He stroked her cheek with his knuckles; she smiled at him and rested her face on his shoulder. There was so much peace in that moment... it was like a little bubble out of time where only they lived—their little private place of safety. She brushed his chest absently and then turned to him to embrace him. Their legs tangled and their bodies shivered with the renewed touches and they remained so for long.

“Little bird...” he muttered at some point against her temple.

She thought again if that was how it was meant to be between a man and a woman; the silent current of understanding between two people, the way in which one person guides the other step by step so none of them were ever alone again. Sansa wondered if a man like Sandor Clegane, despite his harsh vision of the world could also notice that little moment of beauty they were sharing, if he would feel less alone now that he had her. She hoped so. She thought he deserved to. She had once known a girl who would expect words of love and promises in those moments, but the woman she was now didn't. The way he was holding her now—cradling her into his body so tight it seemed he feared she was going to fly away—told her everything she needed to know. Perhaps something similar to love had settled silently between them and would enlighten their lonely lives. She hoped so. They deserved to.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The beautiful fan art was devised by me and it came to life thanks to the art and magic of the wonderful [**metalshell** (tumblr)](http://metalshell.tumblr.com/) aka [ **Nachan** (deviantart)](http://nachan.deviantart.com/). It was made specially for this fic so, please, don't repost it and less without giving us credit. Thank you!


	21. Sandor / Sansa

**Sandor & Sansa**

* * *

 

 

_This might be a delusion and when I wake up I’ll be in the seven hells paying for my sins…_

Sandor stared at Sansa lying by his side. He could barely believe what had happened to him during those last days. A woman like her was never supposed to lay eyes on someone like him, though there she was, peaceful and confident, her body pearled with sweat after allowing him to fuck her to the bones. As the Seven never gave a shit for him, it should be the Old Gods she so worshiped who had granted him the gift of her.

_I think too much about gods, I’m getting old..._

He would like to act the way he used to, when he'd been with a woman before—fucking her and then throwing her out of his room—to find something familiar to hold onto in all the madness, but not only could he not find the reason to follow the way the Hound would act, he realized he didn't want to. He had taken his time with her and had found pleasure in watching how she’d enjoyed his attentions. When she'd climaxed, barely moments before him, there had been a moment of dizziness in which he had bitten his tongue not to tell her some of those stupid words he was sure knights would tell their ladies in these moments. Would she like to hear them? He wasn't a man of such things, but he could say them if she asked him to. Such was her power.

Sandor brushed her back and hair and exhaled deeply, etching in his memory every single detail of what he'd just lived. The moment would pass, though he was certain the memory of what he had felt would haunt him to the grave.

__

“Did you ever imagine this would happen?” Sansa asked softly, “I mean you and... me...”

“I've fucked you a thousand times in my mind before today and I've thought about doing things to you that would embarrass the whores at Littlefinger's brothels. I still don't know how I controlled myself every night we spent together on the road having your body so close...” _Like if I was a bloody true knight of those you like so much,_ he mocked at himself, “I tried to think of others things, other women, but all led me to you again. Not for a single moment did I dare believe it could come true.”

Sandor glimpsed how her cheeks blushed, and couldn't help thinking how beautiful she was, even when she looked flustered.

“Have you been with many women before?” she dared to ask again, very cautiously. That was the first personal question she had ever asked him.

“A few,” Sandor answered, glancing at the ceiling.

Sansa lowered her gaze. He looked at her, surprised by what he guessed was troubling her, “Whores, mostly. Some servants at Casterly Rock too,” he shrugged, “Few of them dared to fuck me twice. And none dared to have my face near hers.” He turned to face her closer, grinning,g “You’re more fearless than them little bird. I grant you that.”

Sansa look at him again, “You used to scare me too,” she confessed, “Though it wasn't so much your face as your eyes; they were so full of wrath! It seemed you were always fighting against the entire world, always angry... But I didn't find any of that when we met again at the Quiet Isle.”

She smiled, and then leaned in to kiss him, pressing her warm bare body into his. His arms enclosed her, pulling her even closer as they kissed and ate each other's mouth until their lips were bruised and swollen and their breaths stirred again. When they separated just slightly to grab breath, Sansa's hand molded tentatively to his arm before sliding it to his chest and then to his abdomen. Sandor followed her gaze, and was shocked again at the realization that she was admiring his body. She had already stared at him that way when he'd stood in front of her until she had invited him to lay with her. She had quenched in the sight of him as he had done before and that pleased him. It was true he was a huge mass of hard tight muscles, shaped by years of training and fighting, though he had never given a second thought about it; it was his nature and his brother’s too, just another tool for his job. But the way she was looking at him now filled him with pride—the pride that she could find his body desirable and the pride of having her all to himself. The soft touching of her fingertips over his stomach turned him on; he wanted her hand to continue its way down his groin. The mere thought of those delicate fingers around his cock hardened him. Sansa should have noticed it, because the corner of her mouth rose into a slight smile. Sandor's hand left her back to grab hers and lead it where he wanted it to be right now, but stopped when he heard her murmuring something very low to herself.

_“I don’t care if it’s yes or not, I control the game, but not in your eyes, in them I left my life...”_

The bloody song. His hand stood still on top of hers while she hummed it very softly.

_“If I lose sight of them, where would I live? If in your pupils I left my chambers within...”_

Sandor interlaced his fingers with hers and held her hand tight against his chest as the hypnotic lyrics engulfed him once more.

_“And I left over your belly my pillow...”_

Her sweet voice faded as she fell asleep. This wasn't a situation he was used to, and somehow felt strange, but maybe for the first time in his wretched life he let her be and allowed himself to enjoy the pleasure of cradling a woman who cared for him into his arms. He recalled Elder Brother's words: the Hound might have done something right in his life to deserve her. And the man had been usually damned right.

“Little bird,” he muttered, just to win a soft complaint from her. “Little bird,” he insisted louder, “time to leave the nest.”

Sansa looked lazily at him through her long lashes for a moment before her eyelids closed again. Sandor left the bed and reached the door in two strides. He glanced into the corridor to check if it was clear and when he went back he had to suppress the impulse of lying again with that red haired goodness that rested on his cot. Putting on his breeches and tunic, Sandor took Sansa's cloak, wrapped her in it and carried her in his arms as silently and quick as he was able, to her room at the end of the corridor. After placing her carefully in her cot, Sansa's arms reached to his neck and pulled him closer.

“May come a day when I do not have to leave your room, if you wanted to...” she whispered in his ear.

Sandor just caressed her cheek and left. He knew he should be pleased by her words, though in some way they stung. He wanted to fight for her, to advise her, to protect her. To watch how she wrote those letters. To listen how she spellbound the Stark's bannermen, as he was certain she would do if she had the chance. He wanted to have her all for his own in his place, night and day, kissing and licking and fucking her pretty body and listening to her moans.

Back in his cell, Sandor lay down on his cot again, and let his hand slid under his breeches and reach his cock. Immersed in the feminine scent that impregnated the room driving him mad, he stroked it hard, almost angry. He wanted everything with her but he was aware that, in a world where the little bird were the Lady of Winterfell, there was not such a place where that was possible.

 

*** * ***

When the sunlight entered through the window waking her up, Sansa reached instinctively her hand looking for him. He wasn't there, of course—she remembered he had carried her to her room last night before falling asleep—but she wished he were. Sansa recalled gradually the previous night and, despite the pleasant memories, she felt a traitorous sting on her chest and felt suddenly ashamed of her inexperience and naivety and odd jealously of those women he had met when war and bitterness hadn’t overwhelmed him. She wished some day she could wake up curled against his powerful chest listening to his heartbeat. Instead, she heard the common sounds of the courtyard from outside and realized it was late and there were plenty of things to organize; ravens to send and strategies to prepare. She yawned and stretched; she felt strong, pretty, sure of herself and reasonably happy—feelings she had thought she would never be able to enjoy again. Could it mean that her fate was really about to change once and for all?

Sansa washed and dressed with the gown she had sewn some weeks ago and left to the Lord Commander's Tower to talk about the news of the day with Jon. Castle Black was full of life at that hour; black brothers, wildings and King's knights were busy in their tasks. She peeked at Sandor at the other side of the yard training with the boys and smiled remembering how those strong arms, which now gave hard blows, had also caressed and held her carefully mere hours ago.

“Well well well, what do we have here? The proud little lady of the Castle in the Air!”

The disgusting thick voice of Ser Patrek suddenly broke her reverie. He had approached her silently, accompanied by four knights who were now laughing at his lord's mockery.  Sansa barely looked at him and continued her path, but he stopped her.

“Are you in a hurry, girl? Do have many balls to attend?” he continued to mock her.

“Please let me have my way, Ser.”

“Or what? Are you going to call for your bastard brother and his bunch of ragged _brothers_?”

Sansa gave another step but the man grabbed her wrist.

“Come on, girl, I'm a generous man; I give you another chance to get in my bed. It can't be as bad as been fucked by a dwarf, hahahaha!”

“Not even if you were the only man in the Seven Kingdoms! Now let me go; you're hurting me!”

“I guess you need to be taught a lesson girl!” he growled enraged while trying to grab her other wrist.

Everything then happened all of a sudden. First a hard blow on his stomach and then another that broke his nose, and Ser Patrek was on the ground growling and spitting blood. A furious Sandor Clegane had come running fast from where he was followed by Grenn and the ten boys they were training and had knocked the man.

“I should had done this days before, you bastard!” he spat raising his sword.

The four knights that were with him had also drawn their swords and were about to attack, but were easily outnumbered by Grenn's boys and several wildings who were nearby ready to fight back.

“All right, so that's what you really are then, the dog's bitch!” the man snorted from the ground as he tried to stop the bleeding from his nose.

“Please, let me pierce that that fabbly arse with my sword!” Sandor asked Sansa, his eyes red with rage. The rest of the Castle was coming to the noise and now all of them were surrounded for more than thirty men.

“No! Stop, all of you! I don't want to cause any trouble for my brother nor need any of you to fight for me!” She told the men. “Now, _Ser_ Patrek, you better stay away from me as long as we share a roof here or... well, as you may have appreciated it seems I have a mean dog. I may let him test what his sword can do with your... private parts.”

A wave of laughs and cheers followed her words. Sansa didn't really know how had she been able to grab the courage to say it, but she smiled at them and bowed her head in a sign of gratitude for their help. She was shaking like a leaf and hoped no one noticed as she began to walk her way again, and heard how Sandor spat at the man once more before following her.

“It seems the she-wolf is showing her claws,” he teased her.

“That man is disgusting but I don’t even know how I was able to tell him that!” Sansa told him, “Thanks for your help, but I don’t want you to get into any trouble during the time we still have to stay here,” She smiled proudly and then noticed his hand was covered by Ser Patrek’s blood nose. “Does it hurt?” She made as if to take his hand, but he didn’t let her.

“Don’t give them anything to gossip about,” he muttered. Sansa understood, but her face saddened. “Look at them,” he added waving his head towards the yard, “You have more support than you thought.”

It was true; black brothers and wildings had backed her equally when she was threatened, something she didn’t expect.

“It could be. But I’m glad I still have you,” She gave him one of her sweet smiles. “I have to go. I’ll see you after dinner.”

 

* * *

 

Sansa didn’t attend dinner at the Common Hall that night. She excused herself saying she had to answer some of the letters and stayed in her room the whole evening. But Ser Patrek did, and so did Sandor. He watched the man from afar, drinking and laughing with his fellows and waited patiently until he left the Hall and followed him quietly. The man was taken a leak alone away from the main buildings. Sandor thought how easy it would be to stab him in the neck and drag him to a dark corner of the castle. Maybe no one would miss him. Instead, he approached him from behind and covered firmly his mouth with his left hand. The man released his cock and tried to resist, trying in vain to hit him, until he felt the cold of Sandor’s steel knife piercing his throat.

“The only reason you are still breathing is because she spared your life today, bastard,” he rasped in his ear. “I don’t have such a gentle heart. Mine is a dark pit, and believe me, I’m eager to drag you into it.”

Ser Patrek stood still, and it seemed he had lost his desire to pee or laugh anymore. Sandor slid the knife along his throat as if to open it in half.

“So if I ever see you laying your bastard eyes on her again, or even breathe the same air she does, I’ll hunt you. And there will be no place in the seven hells where you’re safe until I rip your heart out of your chest. **Do you understand?!** ”

The man nodded nervously under his hand and his legs began to wobble. Sandor let him go and stepped back in the shadows while he crumbled to the ground rubbing his neck. He wished he could kill him, but the little bird wouldn’t approve it. _Bloody knights! So brave to threaten a woman and so craven when facing death!_  He had hated them all his life and he still hadn’t met one worthy to change his mind.

Sandor left the man and went to Hardin's Tower. Walking to his cell he saw light coming out Sansa's ajar door. She was at her table, staring thoughtfully at her papers, her fingertips stained with ink again. He knocked at the door and as soon as he came in she welcomed him with a warm smile that despite his mood he couldn't help but appreciate. Her presence was the only nice thing that had been in his life and he was willing to enjoy and protect it all that was needed.

“Do you have any more news?”

“Yes, besides Lord Manderly and Jonelle Cerwyn, a raven from The Bear Island arrived this evening,” she said handling him a little paper roll, “Alysane Mormont says they'll fight with us too. She says that _“women should support each other in such difficult times,”_ and that they loved my mother and my brother Robb. The Umbers answered too, but they are indecisive yet; Lord Frey still holds prisoner some of their siblings at The Twins. I fear that's the situation with House Blackwood too.”

“I can't blame them; they have lost too many men in your brother's war.”

“I know...”

She shifted the letters spread over the table and took the old map that had been her obsession during the last days.

“Even with Stannis' men, even if Umbers, Blackwoods and Tallharts finally join us, it still isn't enough.” Sansa looked at him with a worried expression. “My father always told us that Winterfell’s walls were unbreakable, that they will stand a many months siege if necessary. But we won't have so many men or so much time and I don’t know what to do. I’ve been thinking about it for days and don't have a single clue yet...”

Sandor took the map and studied it. Winterfell was a week ride from the Wall, Snow had said. Enough time for the Boltons to be prepared for the arrival of Sansa's men. He'd been in the Stark's Keep too—so many years ago, it seemed another life—but she was right, it could only be taken by force by a strong army, and they didn't have it. So, there was only an option...

“Make them leave the Castle and ambush them at the Wolfswood. That's the only way both forces are balanced and we have a chance.”

Sansa looked at him, her glance bright with hope as a smile crept on her lips. He thought how it’d be to eat them for the rest of the night. ~~~~

“That's right! We should fight them on the field, not inside Winterfell's walls. But, how could we do that? I don't want to set the castle on fire!”

Sandor chuckled with her idea, “And burn your nest, little bird? No, they should have to leave it because something different...” Sandor approached his chair to hers as they considered the surroundings of Winterfell again. His shoulders where touching and suddenly the North and the Boltons vanished and there was only her. Though in fact, there had always only been her.

“My brother left Winterfell when the Lannisters imprisoned my father... maybe-maybe if we capture someone important for them, they'll leave to rescue him too...” Sansa was thinking aloud. Though he had barely pay attention during the last moments, he tried to focus. The little bird had a point.

“No, not capture. Most of Bolton forces are at your Keep, so theirs should be poorly guarded.” He pointed to another little drawing of the map. “Attack the Dreadfort. Burn it to the ground if necessary. They'll have to march to defend it. And we'll be on their way to give them a nice steel welcome.”

Sansa gasped, “Yes, that's it! But... we'll need to split our forces in two and that will weaken us, as I've told you I'm not sure if I'll gather enough men.”

“You do have them,” he replied under her watchful gaze. “Look around you girl, you may not have noticed it yet, but you're surrounded by men who would kiss the ground you walk on. None of them are knights or lords though.”

“The Night Watch doesn't take part in the Realm wars; I can't ask their help but the wildings... They don’t make any oaths; they're free to choose who they want to fight for. Do you think they’ll fight by my side? I have nothing to offer them but a piece of land if we succeed.”

Sandor shrugged, “Why not? They've fled their frozen homes because they were afraid, your brother says. Give them the opportunity to live on this side of the Wall. You're good with words, and they've already defended you. There, you have part of your army. They could do that or live among the crows, and I'm not sure they’d like better the second!”

Her blue eyes stared at his intently; studying him the same way they had studied the papers on the table. He took a lock of her hair and placed it behind her ear.

 “You are a pretty smart woman, you'll get it. And I'll be there to watch you crossing Winterfell’s gates and claim what is yours, if that’s what you want.”

Sansa grinned again with that smile that showed only in his presence, when she felt comfortable and safe, the one that made her squint and tilt the head slightly. _Seven hells! You've even got used to it, dog._ Her lips parted slowly as she spoke softly.

“Are you aware of how much I... need you, Sandor Clegane?”

Sandor's lips curled into an ironic grin. _Are you aware of how much you have become the only aim of my life?_ He leaned to kiss her as he should have always done since she had crossed his path and changed his fate; fervently, eagerly. He pulled her closer, tightening her body against his. She could claim whatever keep or House she wanted; he’d claim her—the woman who was meant to be queen or someone else’s lady and had chosen him. He had longed for her all day, missing every inch of her skin and the deep and overwhelming peace her presence provided him. He thought in taking her to the bed and fucking her until she cried out his name again, in getting lost in her and fire burn in his mind her body before those old proud lords of the North take her from his side. But he recalled the incident during the day and tossed it aside. What good would do to her that kind of gossip about them? How was she supposed to gain her Lord's trust if they knew she was the dog's mistress? The world hadn’t changed so much during his retirement in the Quiet Isle not to know no bannermen would accept him by her side. When he broke the kiss, she was heated; her wet lips were slightly open grabbing breath, making her breast rise and fall and her gaze matched his with desire. Lost into their blue waves, he glimpsed himself through her eyes, and what he saw startled him: the man who was there was somehow better, an improved version of who he had been since, simply by looking at him, she made him worthy. Unable to hold her gaze for much longer he embraced her against his chest. _Are you aware of the power you hold over me Sansa?_

“Go to sleep, tomorrow you have to get yourself an army,” he finally muttered breaking the moment.

Sansa separated from him and fixed her dress while he rose and walked to the corridor. When he peeked over his shoulder before closing the door, Sansa's longing stare shredded him.

“May come a day when you don't have to leave my room if you wanted to...” she whispered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The beautiful fan art was devised by me and it came to life thanks to the art and magic of the wonderful [**metalshell** (tumblr)](http://metalshell.tumblr.com/) aka [ **Nachan** (deviantart)](http://nachan.deviantart.com/). It was made specially for this fic so, please, don't repost it and less without giving us credit. Thank you!
> 
> * Dear readers, I know you are there, so don't be shy and leave me a comment! ;)


	22. Jon / Sansa

_This is madness..._ Jon was thinking while they waited in his chambers.

Sansa and Clegane had come to visit him early in the morning to speak with him about their new plan.  He still couldn't believe he was supporting it, though he did realize he would do anything within his power to help her. Things were moving faster these days and their small plan was starting to work, so anything could happen after the meeting.

“Change that face Snow, and let your sister do the talking. She could convince a whore to become a silent sister if necessary,” Clegane snarled at him.

“Just let me try, Jon. What do I have to lose?” she said with a smile, in an attempt to reassure him, but there were no words sweet enough to calm him in the moment.

Satin knocked at the door and entered. “Lord Commander, here they are, as you requested.”

Tormund Giantsbane and four of his wildling companions filled the room with their characteristic noise of boot's footsteps and tapping arms. Tormund sat at the table with them while the rest stood by next to the wall.

“What's so important that you can't come tell me yourself, Crow?”

“In fact it isn't me, but my sister who wishes to speak with you.”

“A proper lady requesting the presence of a wildling? Ha! I thought I’d never live to see such a thing! Do your knights not please her?  She needs a real man to help her? HA-HA-HA!”

Jon frowned angrily and was about to say something when Sansa interrupted him.

“I'm sure you have plenty of qualities for pleasing a woman, but I'm sorry, I feel no need for them right now. Though I may have a different offer for you, one that may be to your liking.”

Tormund fell silent; something Jon wouldn't have ever thought was possible.

“Really? Talk, girl.”

“You may know I'm trying to recover our family's keep. I already have the support of some of our father's bannermen, but I fear we do not have enough men to carry out the plan we have devised.”

“So? What do you want?”

“For you to join me. I've heard what the Night's Watch says about the Free People; about how they fight without fear, whoever their foe. I need some of that ferocity of yours in this quest.”

Tormund chuckled, “Do you know what _Free People_ means girl? It means we _do not_ bend the knee as you do. It means we _do not_ make oaths to anyone. Do you want us to wear your sigils and your house colors? To swear you loyalty? Well, you've spoken with the wrong men!” He snarled before leaving the table to go.

“No,” Sansa replied quickly, “what I want is to recover my home. And once it's done, I'll need people to help rebuild the buildings, tend the fields, and defend it if they try to take Winterfell again. Most of my family’s people are now dead. Tormund, I am offering you a piece of land that is yours. A safe place on this side of the Wall where your wives and children could live without fear when the night falls, but I can't give it to you until I recover it!”

Against all odds, Sansa's words had caught the man’s attention and he sat again. His companions were talking between themselves, too.

“Are you aware of what you are saying? You're offering to share your land with _wildings_.”

“I do. _I_ need your strength, and _you_ need a home as much as I do.  I think it's a fair exchange.”

“Tormund,” Jon finally interceded, “I know why you attacked the Wall, and I've seen the same as you.  An army of dead men with blue eyes, rising from their graves. Whole villages massacred, and the Free People scared because the Wall is the only thing that can stop them. This is a great opportunity, maybe the only one, to live in _your_ south. You are aware there is not enough food to endure the winter at Castle Black; we are too many mouths to feed. Don't let your families starve, or worse.”

“Nobody has asked before what your sister is demanding, Snow...”

“I am not just anybody. I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell. My family has ruled this Kingdom for thousands of years. And a Stark is always loyal to his word,” she replied.

Tormund hesitated before gesturing his men to discuss the proposal in the corner.

While Sansa waited thoughtful and patiently for their answer, Clegane put a big hand on her shoulder to calm her, and she patted it slightly.  Jon was relieved to notice that their relationship had eased since that fateful night when he had almost left. Theirs was an extraordinary and awkward connection; somehow, his presence reassured her, gave her strength and confidence without masking her real self, and the man seemed to have made her the only purpose of his stay at the Wall. _I wish Sansa could be happy someday…_

Tormund's strong voice interrupted his thoughts.  “No bloody oaths, no sigils, no papers on a table. I’ll talk to my people about your proposal. I myself will lead those who agree to fight by your side, but we won't swear anything to you. You may be Snow's sister, but a wolf on a piece of cloth means nothing to us,” he told her, “we fulfill our end of the bargain and you do the same.”

Sansa rose and smiled confidently, “I don't want you to swear me anything; it's been a long time since an oath meant anything to me. Help me, and you'll have a safe place for your families. That's the deal.”

“A deal it is, then. So Snow, why don't you open your wine cellar for us to celebrate? We have a castle to attack and plotting makes me thirsty!” Tormund laughed.

Jon could barely believe it. Where had she learned to deal with men so well? Was there anything she couldn't achieve?

They headed to the kitchen amid Wildling laughter and strong voices. Three-Finger Hobb served them mugs of ale as Tormund and the other men chatted with Sansa and laughed aloud at their coarse jokes.  It seemed their mood improved at the promise of being in action again, and the imminence of a fight. Sitting at a table with Sandor Clegane, Jon watched his sister.

“I still remember her daydreaming about handsome princes and fine dresses with her little friends at Winterfell. She even thought me to dance! I wonder when that child became a master of diplomacy.”

“Her dreams were beaten out of her at the Red Keep. And I guess she had to sharpen her wits while living with Littlefinger,” Sandor replied.

“Were you there?” Jon asked cautiously after a moment, “When they…”

Clegane nodded darkly.

“And you did nothing?”

“I stood there in my pretty white cloak and did nothing. Don’t stare at me that way Snow; not that I’m proud of it,” Sandor rasped.

“She doesn’t blame you; in fact, I’d say she looks at you as if you were the only shield able to keep her safe from danger.”

On the other side of the kitchen, Sansa drank small gulps of wine from her glass while retelling Tormund stories about Winterfell; about its weather, its lands, the livestock and game, and plants and trees that thrived in the cool climate.

“Hells…” Clegane muttered staring back at Sansa, “you think of the happy girl from your childhood memories; but all I can recall from King’s Landing is a fearful child buried behind a cold mask of empty words and courtesy.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“A woman like her…” the man continued as if oblivious of him, “she could have enchanted any man in this bloody Realm until he followed her like a pup, but instead they beat her bloody. She has travelled half the Seven Kingdoms through dirty roads, sleeping on the muddy ground night after night, to reach this Gods forsaken frozen place.  All to become the woman she was always meant to be. Did you know she once threw rocks at a Vale knight I was fighting?” he chuckled and took a long gulp from his mug, “And she bribed a man at Moat Caillin! Seven hells, I tell you this Snow, she is going to get whatever she wants. She could convince your northern lords to attack your castle with their bare hands if necessary,  and they’d lick the ground she walks on afterwards.”

 _Aye, I bet she’ll do it. Though I reckon all that she really wants is a safe home and a family_ , Jon thought.

At that moment, they were approached by a smiling Sansa. “Did you know Tormund claims he had been married to a bear?” she told them in wonderment.

Both men laughed together, “If you believe half he says, he would be sitting now on the Giant’s Throne with a dozen giantesses kissing his wild ass! Did he tell you about the size of his manhood? It’s one of his favorite topics!” Sansa’s eyes widened and she blushed embarrassed while they laughed again.

Suddenly, Pyp hurried into the kitchen looking for them.

“Lord Commander, a group of men on horseback has arrived at the main gate. The woman who leads them says they came from Castle Cerwyn. She wants to talk to Lady Sansa.”

“She must be Jonelle!” Sansa replied excited, “She wrote me some days ago saying she would come. Thank you Pyp; tell her I’ll meet her as soon as possible. Oh, what a busy day!” she told them once the boy was gone. “I want to thank you two, truly. For standing by my side through this madness. I couldn’t do it without you.” She took their hands and squeezed them slightly before rewarding them with one of her bright smiles before turning to leave. Jon grabbed Sandor by the arm as he rose to follow.

“Listen Clegane, there is something we have needed to discuss since this plan began,” the Lord Commander said when Sansa was out of earshot. “If despite all her efforts something goes wrong, Boltons and Freys will put a price on her head. She won’t be safe here anymore and I won’t be able to protect her much longer.”

“If you hear word that this plan has gone to shit, send her to Eastwatch and put her on the first ship to Essos,” Clegane rasped. “Send someone with her; Grenn may serve. He isn’t as green as the others and if you release him of his duties here he’ll take good care of her.”

Jon nodded in agreement. “Whatever happens, try to survive Clegane... I know she won’t be leaving anywhere without you.” Jon added before allowing him to follow his sister.

 

 

The following days passed amid a constant hustle that had long since prevailed at the Wall. The meeting between Sansa and the Lady of Castle Cerwyn was a success and Lady Cerwyn stayed on at Castle Black, where she requested the rest of her troops meet her as soon as possible. Ravens came and went from the Rockery, the fluent correspondence resulted in increasing numbers of Northerners at the gates of the keep. Within days the fields at the castle’s main gate were besieged with dozens of men and soldiers of the leading houses in the North, the sky covered with bright sigils and banners flying over their tents. The Kingdom had not seen such a gathering since Robb Stark marched south several years ago, and it was a stunning and hopeful sight.

Sansa had never been so busy organizing and attending to all the men who came to greet her. She still remembered some of them from her childhood days at Winterfell, though they had become experienced grown men now. It was hard for her to hold back tears as their bannermen shared memories of her brother Robb, when they expressed their admiration of his bravery before the treason of the Red Wedding, or when the elders remembered her parents with fondness. She took strength from those memories, gave her courtly smiles and spoke with everyone who requested her presence. Sandor Clegane continued with his responsibilities at the Wall and sometimes accompanied her, though their moments of privacy were scarce as she was hardly ever alone now. Though her duties kept her usually awake until the wee hours of the night, not once did he visit her room to sit with her as he used to. Often times she saw light coming from Sandor’s cell at the end of the corridor, but never dared to knock.  Somehow he was constantly present; his grey eyes always following her, and it heartened her. She longed so much for a little moment of intimacy though—for cradling in the little space between his body and his arms, the place where she still felt like any other girl, oblivious to the upcoming battle and the lords and men who now so often looked to her. However there no longer seemed to be the time or space.

With the arrival of Lord Wyman Manderly and his men from White Harbor came also the time for the council to discuss the strategy of their quest. The meeting would either elevate Sansa to the true leader her men needed her to be, or cause them to dismiss her as the little girl she knew some of her bannermen still saw in her. She must show to them the same strength they had previously seen in her brother and father, the Stark resolution and courage. The council meeting was the time to persuade the northern lords that, behind those letters they had received, there was a true daughter of Ned Stark and that it was worth fighting not only for her, but also for the sake of the North. 

Sansa’s stomach ached while she left Castle Black escorted by Tormund, Sandor, and Ser Robert Penrose, the knight who would lead the men King Stannis had appointed for her service. She wished Jon was there, but she was aware his position as Lord Commander didn’t allow him to attend political meetings. The lords and heirs of the main Houses waited for her at Lord Manderly’s tent, the largest in the makeshift camp. She had dressed as best she could, and had combed her long hair into a northern-style braid. She was glad to have the old map firmly clenched in her fist like a charm; otherwise she wouldn’t have known what to do with her hands. Sansa stopped before entering the tent and took a deep breath. She felt Sandor’s heavy hand on her shoulder, squeezing it encouragingly.  Their eyes met and she understood what he could not say aloud: _I’m here with you, whatever happens. You can do this little bird_. She nodded at him and entered into the tent with confident steps. Twelve men and women rose from their seats and bowed their heads.

“Good afternoon, my Lords. Thank you so much for attending this council. I’m so glad to see you all reunited here.”

Sansa walked to the seat they had reserved for her and sat while her companions stood at her back. She noticed all eyes turned towards them and some murmurs began to rise.

“My Lady,” one of the Karstark men dared to say, “could you explain to us what this means? Why are you bringing a wilding with you?”

“You know my brother allowed the free people to stay at the Wall after King Stannis’ arrival. Tormund Giantsbane is one of their leaders. I promise I’ll tell you what his part in our quest is going to be as soon as I have the chance.”

“And the other?” another man asked, “I know him, he’s the Hound! It’s said he was the murderer of the Salt Pants!”

“I’m afraid that’s a false statement, my Lord,” Sansa answered, but the murmur continued growing among the people and some voices rose against him.

“He is a Lannister man, my Lady! He can’t be here!” another one dared to say.

“Not anymore, my lords,” Sansa raised her voice among them, sure and firm, “as my own brother, The Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch will confirm to you, Sandor Clegane is loyal to my cause and my closest adviser. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for him. I trust him with my life, the same I trust it to you now. Now, if it pleases you my Lords, we need to talk about more vital problems.  We still have a battle to prepare for.” Sansa rose and with firm hands spread her map over the table. With that the discussion was settled and no more word about the matter was spoken.

She pointed to Winterfell, as she had done days before with Jon and Sandor. “This, my Lords, is where our real enemies are, at my family home. I don’t want any Frey ruling the North, nor any Bolton. They have betrayed you, just like my brother.”

The same voices that barely moments before had been raised against the Hound were now calling out against Roose Bolton. They discussed the retaking Winterfell once and for all, debated who would go be in the vanguard, and many boasted about how they’d kill Bolton and his bastard son with their own hands. Sansa listened to all of them quietly. Among all the voices, she thought she heard Sandor’s low chuckle at her back. When everybody had finished, she spoke again.

“My Lords, my father always said it was almost impossible to take Winterfell by force. And despite all the men you have gathered, we don’t have enough time or resources to conduct a siege.”

“So, what do you suggest we do then?” Lord Manderly asked with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“We have to make them leave the keep.”

“How? They will never abandon it willingly!”

Sansa smiled confidently. It was the moment she had been anticipating for days; this was her chance.

“That, my Lords, is where Tormund Giantsbane comes into play. I guess Roose Bolton thinks he has the North under control and doesn’t expect any House to move against him. And any northern House will, because it will be Tormund who will lead his men to attack Bolton’s keep. As you may know, the Dreadfort is poorly guarded as the main of its forces are at Winterfell with his lord to secure it. Taking the keep shouldn’t be a difficult task. We have to make sure news of the wildling’s attack arrives to Lord Bolton as soon as possible. When this happens, an important part of his forces will leave for Dreadfort to defend it. When they are at an ample distance so they cannot withdraw to Winterfell Ser Robert Penrose, leading King’s Stannis knights, will take them by surprise and ambush them on their way.  My guess is only Bolton’s men will leave, Frey’s forces and the northerners who supported them will remain at Winterfell. If the odds are in our favor, there may be a few disputes and some disorder when Bolton departs.  Maybe some of them begin to question his loyalties. Your forces should attack the castle while Winterfell’s main gate is still open and use the discord to our advantage. My Lords, I think this is the only way that we have a chance. However, you know much more of war than I do. I won’t do anything without your full support.”

Harsh grown men had listened to her attentively and when she was done, Sansa’s words echoed in the tent, such was the silence and respect of her bannermen. Nothing was said for a long moment and she feared no one would support her plan, thinking it was just the foolish idea of a girl playing to war, and not what it really was, the product of plenty of hours and sleepless nights studying the ground and calculating their chances with the help of Sandor.

“It really seems we are facing the daughter of Ned Stark,” Wyman Manderly finally dared to speak. “Well my lady, we wouldn’t come to mind with a better plan and I think I talk for all of us when I say you’ll have our complete support in this quest. I think it is time to put things in their place in the North.”

Sansa slowly exhaled, unaware that she had been holding her breath, and smiled, confident in his words.

“Thank you, my Lords, this means everything to me. Let me tell you I’d had the help of Sandor Clegane when I was planning the strategy.” She wasn’t certain if he’d like that move, but it was the only way she knew to make her bannermen understand. To make them notice how important and valuable he was to their cause. She peeked at him for a brief moment and noticed how his mouth twisted in irony and knew he was well aware of every one of her moves.

“Your plan is clear and it may work, but there is still a pending issue, I fear,” Lord Manderly went on, “the wildlings have been our foes for centuries. Whereas they may tell you they are going to fight for you, they could kill and loot every village from the Wall to Winterfell while our men are far from home. They are not trustworthy people, my Lady.”

“Well, you shouldn’t trust us, _southerner,_ ” Tormund teased them from her back, “What if during the journey I change my mind and go to your castle instead?”

The sound of several swords leaving its scabbards filled the air suddenly. Tormund himself raised his axe menacingly. “Stop you fool!” she heard Sandor growl at the man before grabbing his arm firmly.

“Please, down your swords! My Lords, there is no need for this!” Sansa tried to pacify the men, “I made a deal with them that is only mine to fulfill. And I believe they’ll fulfill their part too.”

“Still, I don’t trust them,” Manderly said.

“I will go with them,” Sandor’s thunderous voice rang through the air. “Some of your men can join me if you want, this way you can be assured that Tormund’s men do not act on their own and accomplish their part of the plan. No more than five men or we will raise suspicions when we attack, and Roose Bolton won’t fall into the trap.”

Sansa held her breath while the calm seemed to settle back into the tent.  What worried her now were the implications of Sandor’s words. _He is going with the wildings. He is going..._

“I’ll join you Clegane,” one of Jonelle’s men said. “I want to be there when that damned Dreadfort falls. If half of what is said to happen inside its dungeons is true, that place should not remain standing one more moon.”

“Count me too! I’ve long wished to avenge Lady Hornwood. It’s time to kill some Boltons!” another one claimed.

And so it was settled that men from Blackwood, Tallhart, Ryswell, Cerwyn and Norrey would finally join Sandor Clegane and Tormund on the attack to Dreadfort.

Other topics were discussed after that; the timing of their departure in two days’ time, the communications between them, the fact that, against her will, she should stay behind at the Wall, the supplies they should carry… Sansa smiled and nodded courteously at her bannermen’s words, but her mind was elsewhere. _He is going far from me..._

 

* * *

It was late when Sansa was finally able to retire to her room. The council lasted longer than she had expected and after it finished the main Lords and Ladies requested her presence for dinner. There was a high sense of belonging in the council tent; a sense of camaraderie and gratitude to her for finally having united Lord Stark’s bannermen again. It was all she had wished for long, but somehow her joy was incomplete and a she began to settle into a dark mood. Back at Castle Black, she visited Jon’s chambers to inform him about what had been decided during the evening and how the preparations for the recovery of Winterfell had finally begun.

The Wall was quiet. Not a soul seemed to be awake at that hour of the night when she finally climbed, exhausted, up the stairs of Hardin’s Tower. While walking to her room, she looked once more at Sandor’s door, but this time she didn’t feel the longing she did other nights. She was disappointed and upset. Upset at him for making such an important decision without consulting her, and because he was going away. She hurried to his room and knocked heavily on the door until her knuckles ached. She heard a hustle of furs and heavy strides before the door burst open and a furious Sandor wearing a simple loose tunic filled the door’s frame.

“ **How dare you**!?” Sansa snapped before he could even open his mouth so say anything. She came into the room in a hurry without even waiting to be invited. She felt her breath coming in a rage; and a sudden urge to unleash on him everything that had been consuming her during the evening.

 “How dare you? Tell me!” she pushed forward.

“What the hell!” he finally managed to snarl looking at her, incredulous and annoyed at the same time.

 “That stupid idea of you going with Tormund to the Dreadfort. We never talked about it. Never!” she replied angrily.

Sandor snorted finally understanding, “No, we did not, but it was necessary that someone kept an eye on them.  There was no other way the Lords would accept the wildings traveling on their own through their lands.”

Trying somehow to gain some control, Sansa’s hands had curled into little fists resting on both sides of her body. Sandor was looking quietly at her, arms crossed against his heavy chest and an amused grin planted on his lips.

“Besides, do you think Tormund’s men even know what a keep is? Seven hells, they think a pile of stones is a castle and that they are going to attack something as ruined as Castle Black! We cannot allow them to attempt to take the Dreadfort on their own without a proper strategy!”

Sansa’s breath had quieted a little but she had begun to pace from side to side of the room while his eyes remained heavily fixed on her.

“Fine,” she finally admitted, “but you should have consulted me first. Now there is also a watch of five northerners going with them. They can do that same task, so there is no need for you to go with them anymore.”

Sandor shrugged, “Why not? It was my idea and what was needed for your pretty plan to go on.”

“Because I-I command it!” she couldn’t help but raise her voice, stopping nervously in front of him.

He chucked, “And go back on my word to your bannermen? The Hound, the closest of Lady Stark’s advisers, a craven once more! Ha! I bet they’ll love that!”

“No! It’s not like that! I just—I just…” she stammered nervously.

Sandor walked towards her and took her by the shoulders, making her finally stop pacing and forcing Sansa to look at him.

“I have to do it,” he told her lowering his voice this time, “I can’t stay hidden under your skirts while men who barely know you are going to die for your cause.”

“You mean to leave me!” she protested, the anger giving finally way to the pain and anguish that was threatening to strangle her, “You said you’ll never leave me again, that you will always be by side whatever happens!”

“Aye and I still mean every word. But I also told you that I’ll help you as much as I can. I don’t have a House or men to join you, but I still have my sword to fight. And if that makes a difference to help you to get your bloody castle back, I’ll use it.”

Sansa struggled to free herself from his grasp, still refusing to believe what was really happening, but Sandor grabbed her tighter and pulled her to him, engulfing her between his firm arms and his chest. _Here is where I belong_ ; she realized buried in his body _, this is the only safe place._ She felt how hot tears had begun to form in her eyes, moistening his tunic. _That’s not fair! Why are the gods taking him, too?_

“I don’t want you to leave… I don’t want to be alone again…” she managed to whimper against his chest.

Sandor brushed her back gently and took his lips to her ear, his warm breath and low voice sending tingles through her body, “Don’t worry, little bird, I don’t have any intention of dying any time soon, nor to stay away from that pretty face of yours for long.”

Sansa clutched at his tunic, holding on him the same way she had held her precious map hours before. She raised her face slowly to meet his gaze, and when their eyes met, she felt again the familiar feeling of being consumed under his stare, and knew with certainty he was also suffering. Realizing that would be last time in many weeks they could share a moment alone and impulsively following the urgent demand of her own body, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him eagerly. He grunted, of surprise or lust she didn’t know, but returned the kiss with a ferocity that matched hers and made her legs wobble. Sansa tasted the characteristic flavors of salt water, snow, and sweat on his mouth and enjoyed the familiarity it provided. After what seemed an eternity, Sandor firmly clutched her buttocks and lifted her until her legs were wrapped around his waist. With two firm steps, he carried her easily to a nearby table placing her carefully there.

“You cannot imagine how much I’ve missed you…” he growled with lust as he began to undo the ribbons of her gown with certain movement of his fingers.

Perched on the table with her legs still straddling his waist, Sansa pulled on his tunic, urging him to take it off before throwing it to the floor. Her breathing was stirred when she traced the contour of his powerful shoulders and arms lightly with her fingertips. She realized how much she wanted him; his protective presence, his steely voice, his strong body, even his coarse manners- characteristics that shaped the only man who had ever wanted her simply for who she was; and she desired him much more for it. When Sandor finally managed to let her breasts free, he grinned lustfully at their sight, and cupped them into his hands, circling his thumbs over her already hard nipples. A soft sigh of pleasure escaped her lips at his touch, and her own hands pulled him closer until she felt his manhood pressing hard against her smallclothes.  His tongue slid languidly along her neck before he nipped lightly on her earlobe, making her shiver from head to toe. She fiercely explored his hair, his shoulders, his arms… wanting to learn by heart every inch of his body, made of stone and blood, so she could evoke it clearly for the nights to come.

_I need you…_

As if hearing her thoughts, he left her neck and removed one of his hands from her breast. Starting at her foot, his hand moved slowly, gently tracing from her ankle to her thigh, his fingers sending waves of pleasure and anticipation all over her body.  He lifted the hem of her dress to her waist and removed her smallclothes with a firm yank. Sandor was already naked, which allowed her to drink in the sight of him once more as he took his manhood in one hand and rubbed it slowly. Placing his other hand on her hip, he pulled her to him and slid himself inside her moist folds. Sansa’s legs wrapped firmly around his waist and her arms surrounded his neck. He was holding her tight, one hand at her lower back and the other between her shoulder blades, thrusting into her unhurriedly. “I like it…” she dared to whisper panting in his ear and rousing a guttural groan and a grin from his part. As usual when they were together, the rest of the world blurred; there were no more Lords, no wildings, no Night’s Watch, no one really, save for the two of them living and loving each other in the small space their bodies created, a place where no harm could come to her.

Unexpectedly, he grabbed again her buttocks and lifted her while remaining inside of her. Sansa held on to him while Sandor took her carefully to the bed and sat on it with her straddling him. Leaning back and resting his elbows over the cot, he stared at her lustfully.

“Let me enjoy how you ride me.”

Sansa blushed; embarrassed for not knowing what she was supposed to do in that moment. Sandor noticed and began to move his pelvis, guiding her movements with his hands over her hips until they found their rhythm. Slowly, he lay on the bed; one arm under his head, the other resting on her thigh, staring at her as if she was some kind of old goddess he worshiped. Sansa rested her palms on his heavy torso and kept moving, rolling her hips up and down, up and down his length. She felt aroused, filled, complete, and exultant at the same time. She felt a rush of power as she rode him and felt how the fearsome warrior yielded to her, defenseless under a simple woman.

“Hells! Don’t ever stop,” he groaned with thick voice.

She grinned with confidence and moved faster, riding him harder, fueled by the moans her movements elicited from him. His hand moved along her inner thigh until he reached her folds, his heart and index fingers rubbing her soft spot and sending waves of pleasure through her body. Sandor delighted in the wetness he found, his lips twisting into a mischievous smile. When she was close to climax, he withdrew his fingers and sat up, holding her strong against him without missing a stroke. His hands were iron against the skin of her waist and back while he thrust hard into her.

_Tomorrow I’ll have marks from him…_

The familiar feeling crept inside her, slow but strong; her legs began to shake as he thrust faster until she felt the explosion that swept her insides, leaving nothing but him and the imperative need to melt under his skin. Panting against their necks, both cried out the other’s name as a promise or a wish, like a spell that allowed them to stay sane despite the horrors they had endured. They collapsed on the bed; she on top of him, exhausted and quenched of each other; their bodies entangled in a mess of clothes, hair, sweat, arms and legs, and remained that way until their breathing returned to its normal rhythm and Sansa slid to his side. They lay on the cot, one in front of the other, arms entangled, their faces so close they could only breathe the air the other one exhaled, looking into each other’s eyes without speaking for a long time.

“I already miss you…” Sansa finally whispered breaking the silence, “come back to me, Sandor. Please, come back safe,” she pleaded, brushing a strand of hair from his unburned cheek.

She could feel the roughness of his fingertips scratching her skin as his hand drew the line of her face from her forehead to her chin. “I will,” he promised, “I’ll be by your side when you enter Winterfell again. I’ll carry you there in my arms if necessary.”

She stared at him, feeling she was going to ignite under the intensity of those gray eyes and the feelings that boiled inside of her. “I’ll wait for you, I promise. I won’t allow anyone arrange another marriage for me as long as I… I can be with you…”

“Bloody hells Sansa. Bloody buggering hells...” he muttered embracing her while she snuggled again in the safe place that provided his body. “I haven’t done a single good thing in my life and yet here you are…” he kissed her temple softly and brushed her hair clumsily. “I look at you and can’t believe yet that you’re real… what have I done to deserve you girl?”

She grinned against his chest and kissed it softly, “You saved me. You cared for me when nobody did and kept me safe. You are helping me return home and you’ve never asked for anything… I wonder what _I_ have done to deserve _you._ ”

Sandor chuckled, “To deserve me? Nothing good, for sure!” They smiled, easing a moment both of them knew could not last.

“Sandor, I-” she tried to say, but the words didn’t flow from her mouth.

“Uh?”

“Nothing…” _I think…_ her lips soundlessly formed the words against his chest _I - l o v e - y o u_ …. Sansa hugged him tight and inhaled his scent deeply, praying they still had enough time together to be able to tell him.

“I’m going to miss you too little bird. Every day that I’m away from you will be hell on earth, believe me,” Sandor admitted with his characteristic rasping voice, “I want you. I want to be with you, I want everything with you.”

It was late, but they lingered in the moment, neither daring to move.

 

* * *

 

With the men immersed in a fury of planning and preparation, the next day passed faster than Sansa would have liked. Finally, on the morning of the second day since the council, everything was ready for their departure. She knew she should be happy, it was what she had worked for so hard for, but she could only feel a deep void inside of her. Many men would die on this quest. Sandor could be one of them, and the thought made her uneasy.

She and Jon attended the main gate to bid farewell to the warrior’s party. The Stark’s bannermen and King Stannis' men left first; they were the bigger party so their march would be slower and it was important they were already there when news of the attack over the Deadfort arrived at Winterfell. The wildings, Sandor Clegane and the five northerners that went with them were ready to leave several hours later.  With promise of new land and new lives south of the Wall, Tormund had gathered impressive numbers of men and women of the free people who were looking forward to gaining their reward.

"Next time we meet, both of us will have a new home, m'lady!" the man had said as farewell.

The formidable and imposing profile of Sandor Clegane towered above all of them. He led Stranger to Sansa and dismounted. She brushed Stranger's snout, remembering how the beast had taken her safely to the Wall, before finally meeting Sandor’s gaze. Concealed from prying eyes by the animal’s shape, she took his hand and squeezed it until her fingers hurt.

"Stay alive," she told him fighting to control the tears that were already forming in her eyes, "it’s a command."

"Stay safe little bird. I'll come back for you," He took her hand to his lips and gave it a discreet kiss before taking Stranger's bridle and mounting him.  Giving a short nod to The Lord Commander, he broke into a gallop, following the rest of the men that left Castle Black.

Sansa stayed at the gate looking at the King's Road long after they disappeared on the horizon. She didn't know how long had passed when Jon wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"Come on Sansa, it's getting too cold here."

She looked at him expressionless; silent tears streaming down her checks. "Do you think they'll get it Jon?"

"Don't worry, he'll do it. I think it takes more than a castle and a bunch of Boltons and Freys to keep Clegane from you.”

She smiled sadly as they walked to Castle Black; a heavy pain in her heart that she knew would not dissolve easily.

 


	23. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Sandor's dirty thoughts ;)  
> The fanart was a gift from the lovely and talented Rossie (Metalshell). Thanks! <3

It was good to be on the road again, feeling the fresh air on his face, the scent of the woods, and Stranger between his legs. It was good to be marching to a fight, something he had always looked forward to, and the singular camaraderie that usually grew between the men in the days before battle. It was good that the men were oblivious to his past, and not once mentioned the Hound. It felt good, or so Sandor told himself every day. Yet the brutal truth was that deep inside him, it felt all wrong. At night, when the camp was silent and he finally lay to rest, a heavy homesickness menaced to consume him. The feeling was new to him, as were many others he had experienced during the last months. Everything he had experienced with her felt fresh and new, as if his previous life was simply a passing of blurred days, and he hadn’t been truly alive until she had awoken him.

She was now in everything; in each one of his memories, impregnating his senses, collapsing his mind until he thought he couldn’t ride one more mile away from her. He was aware that leading the party was the right choice and the best way he had to serve her, but the thought didn’t ease him. Sandor missed her so much that knowing that he wouldn’t see her for a long time, maybe never again, hurt almost in a physical way. Not that he feared death; he had been close to it so many times that it was simply like an old friend. However, recalling how she was found the day he left Castle Black without any explanation made him feel even worse.

This travel was so different from theirs; not only because of the big number of men that accompanied him and their goal, but because they had changed irrevocably; the man who was traveling south again wasn’t the same that arrived at the Wall. He wasn’t sure he knew who was better, although something in the way Sansa looked at him had already told him.

Every night, sleeping on the hard ground under the northern stars, he closed his eyes, caressed the seams of the wound she had sewn on his side so long ago and went over their time together over and over. If he tried hard, he could almost feel her again, lying under him or between his arms, or even feel her smooth skin under his wrecked lips. He had lost count of how many times, out of sight from the rest of the company and cock in hand, he had released himself while imagining new ways to make her moan. Sandor wondered about what kind of things she would like him to do to her. As a proper lady, she probably wouldn’t tell him, so he’d have to find out by himself, testing her body inch by inch, until he learned every single one of those hidden places that would make her sigh from pleasure and squirm between his hands. And once he’d discovered them, he’d stroke, kiss and lick each one of them until he’d hear her scream his name again. He knew women had that little spot at the apex of their thighs where their pleasure was, and knew of men who enjoyed tasting women down there. Though he hadn’t done such a thing before – he hadn’t cared enough for any of the maids or whores he had fucked before to be concerned with their pleasure – his mouth watered at the thought of burying his face between Sansa’s legs and licking that sweet spot his fingers already well knew. _I bet that little pink cunt tastes luscious, as does the rest of you..._

Sometimes he also fantasized with the things he’d like her to do him, and imagined her delicate fingers stroking his cock at night. With his hand over hers, the first time he’d have to teach her how he liked it to be done - slowly first, then faster and harder - and she’d feel how he grew bigger and hard as a stone; so much that her hand couldn’t cover it entirely and she’d had to use the other one too, until he couldn’t stand anymore and he’d come over her hands… Other times, the image of her between his legs licking his manhood disturbed and aroused him to no end; would she do that for him if he asked her to? He chuckled at the idea; even if she did it, he doubted that she could hold a cock like his with those pretty little lips of hers. He had also heard of whores who did it while they let you eat their cunts at the same time, though he had never tried it. _Would you like that, little bird, to give us pleasure at the same time with our mouths; while I grab your perfect arse?_ How many times had he come in his breeches like a green boy while thinking of that?

But of most of the times, after finding his release, he thought of the real woman who was waiting for him. Sandor was certain she’d be worried sick for the men she had sent to battle, especially for him. However, Elder Brother had always said that he wasn’t an easy man to kill, and he had no wish to visit the Seven Hells until he knew that she was finally safe. He couldn’t bear the idea of her fleeing to Essos if they didn’t make it. The Sansa he knew would die of sadness and longing so far from that keep she called home and the few people she could trust. There was no other option but to make her plan work and win the war. He didn't give a shit about the North or their men, neither for the wildings or the Boltons; only for her. His aim in life was her and only her; a perfectly good reason to live.And if her wish were to claim Winterfell, he’d fight to the last breath to get it. After all, that’s all he had to offer her.

Sandor had also wondered many times if despite Sansa’s determination to retake her family’s castle she could really be happy living there again. She found strength in the memory of those stones, a sense that within those walls she might feel safe. However the Winterfell in which she grew up had died long ago. If what the northerners said was true, Bolton’s bastard had burnt it and its people were scattered and slain. Sandor had seen other castles after a battle before and knew what happened in those cases; although Roose Bolton and his followers had now settled there, there would be no farmland around, the stables would house only warhorses, kennels would be emptied, the forge turned off and only soldiers and warriors frozen cold would fill their halls and chambers. Worst of all, she’d be alone. Sansa Stark, the last of her kin, walking on her own among the walls of her childhood- surrounded by ghosts. She had told him once that she wanted him to be with her, so she could call Winterfell home again. By then, Sandor hadn’t fully understood those words, but maybe now he was finally hinting some of its true meaning. She feared to feel alone again, even inside Winterfell’s walls, because if so, what would be left for her but an endless emptiness in her heart? She couldn’t fly again, it would have to be her place because there wouldn’t be any others.

Sandor wished there’d still be hope for her to be happy. He wanted to get to know the other Sansa, a confident woman who lived without either fear or need to run. How would she be if she really had a home in which to feel comfortable and protected? What things would she do? How would she dress? What would she like to eat if she had the choice? He knew that she preferred wine to beer, but knew little more of any of her true tastes. Sandor wanted to learn everything about the woman beneath the facade of courtesy and wanted her to become the woman she was always meant to be. He had already glimpsed some of this during their private moments together; in the way she looked at him when in bed, when he hugged her, or in that genuine smile he was aware she kept just for him.

However, those thoughts were left for the loneliness of the night. Daytime was for marching, for preparing the strategy for the assault of the Dreadfort. Two of the northerners that accompanied them already knew the keep. The Blackwood man said it was a strong fortress, with high thick walls and triangular merlons that looked like sharp stone teeth. Even if it was weakly garrisoned, it was difficult to take it by attack, the Ryswell confirmed after telling the story of how the King in the North Harron Stark had to siege the fortress for two years before it yielded. There were also the disturbing stories that spoke of the room below the castle were Lord Bolton hung the skin of his enemies. The wildings didn’t seem intimidated by any of it. Tormund listened by the fire when they sat to talk about the coming battle and laughed at most of the men’s worries.

“We have climbed the Wall and survived living death, _boys_! What makes you think we couldn’t climb one of those stone walls you talk about? Ha! Leave that to us!”

Sandor hoped that, despite his mockery, the man was right because he feared that this was their only chance.

That night, he left their usual meeting around the campfire to take his last wineskin. They were only a day ride from the Bolton’s keep, and he wanted to drink until the last drop before the fight began. While rummaging through Stranger’s saddlebags, he touched something smooth and silky that he hadn’t found before. Frowning, he pulled it out and inspected it carefully as it lay in his palm. It was one of Sansa’s bows, the silver grey one she had worn in her braid the day she faced the northern lords at the council. He waved his hand, letting the silken fabric slide between his fingers in its entirety. It was then he saw carefully embroidered letters on the bow. “ _Come back to me,”_ it read. Sandor rubbed his fingers over the careful embroidery, knowing what it meant.   It was a token, something for the knight to remind him of his lady. _Still believing in songs, little bird?_ he chuckled, as he imagined her carefully sewing the words in her room. She knew him well; he probably would have scoffed at her if she had told him about it, so she had hidden it among his belongings.  He was well aware of how important that small gesture was for her and felt oddly proud that she had chosen him and no one else to wear it. Sandor wrapped the long bow on his left wrist, took the wineskin and went back with his companions. They were laughing at one of Tormund’s coarse jokes and he didn’t feel in the mood to join them, so he just leaned against a nearby tree and took a long pull of his wineskin. After having swallowed half the liquor, he closed his eyes. The feeling of the soft ribbon against his skin reminded him inevitably of her own skin against his, and the distance that kept them apart hurt again for the thousandth time. _This is a bloody mistake that leads us nowhere… People like me don’t deserve a happy life, so why in the seven hells did you choose me girl?_ But he knew he had also chosen her and that the bond they shared was already as unbreakable as the piece of cloth he wore now on his wrist.

“Come on Clegane! Stop thinking of _m’lady_ and share that fucking wine with us!” Tormund’s mocking voice took him abruptly out of his thoughts and his hand went instinctively to his sword’s pommel, “Easy man! I’m just joking!”

Sandor tossed him the wineskin and the wilding gave it a gulp before wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “Umm tastes good! Stop looking at me that way man; did you think I hadn’t noticed how you look at her? Ha, I don’t blame you, the girl is a beauty. And what hair! If you were living beyond the Wall you would have to kidnap her to make her yours hahaha!”

“Bugger you!” Sandor snarled annoyed.

“And the way she looks at you,” the man smacked his lips and continued oblivious to him, “I’m sure you have noticed too. You’re a lucky man. I’d love to know what her lord brother thinks of it, ha! I like the boy, but he’s proud and I don’t think he likes you much, hahaha!”

“Shut up, wildling, you’re drunk!”

“Oh yes, and I expect to be even drunker before the night ends!” he mocked. However he got oddly serious, “The northern boys say we’re only a day ride from that castle. Clegane, my men are eager to fight but I don’t want to lead them to a certain death if once we are there there’s no chance of winning.”

Sandor shared the wilding’s worries too, “Tomorrow some of us will take the lead and study the ground before we attack. We must learn more about their defenses and especially about its garrison. And then we’ll need to prepare a plan. If we play our cards smart, we may have a chance.”

Tormund nodded and drank again, “Aye, I hope you’re right, I wouldn’t mind being the _lord_ of my own southern castle hahaha!”

Sandor couldn’t help but laugh with him at the image of those fierce men ruling a proper castle. _Though I bet no northern lord will allow that to happen._

Later that night, when he finally lay to rest, he brushed the bow over his wrist and his mind flew to her once again. The little bird thought of him as the knight of her dreams, and although in his past life he would have make fun of it, somehow, despite himself, he took pleasure in the feeling. Perhaps that was the irony of his fate, to become her _true knight_ without being one and to get her home back without a real army.

_I swear I won’t die without seeing you again Sansa Stark. I swear it…_

On the morrow, Tormund, Blackwood, Norrey, and himself rode as planned next to the vicinity of the Dreadfort leaving the rest of the men at the camp. Hidden by the dense vegetation that covered a hill next to the castle, they kept a close watch on the keep for several hours. It was indeed an impressive fortress, surrounded by tall thick stone walls and massive towers. There were a few soldiers on the battlements, however, and after a few hours little movement was seen in the castle.

“The northerners were right; Lord Bolton has taken with him most of his forces to secure Winterfell, leaving his own keep poorly garrisoned. Maybe we have a chance after all,” Sandor said, “Now it’s time to prove that you are able to climb those walls, wilding”.

“Ha! Consider it done Clegane. This is child’s play compared to what we have done before!”

“Alright. Now our main purpose is that your people scare them by attacking the castle so they send ravens to Winterfell asking for help. No crow should be shot, nor will we attack the rookery. That may do it, maybe it isn’t even necessary to take the keep.”

“We’ll take it, Clegane. This bloody castle is going to be my prize”, Tormund added before turning to ride back to camp.

That same night, under the cover of darkness, fifteen fully armed men ran silently to the Dreadfort walls. Using strange tools on hands and feet, Sandor and the rest of their little army held their breath as they watched the wildings slowly climb what mere moments before seemed impenetrable walls. They were all hidden close to the fortress, waiting for a signal to make the next move. The first signs didn’t take long. Soon after the first men had made to the top of the wall, the unmistakable sound of clashing steel reached them. Screams and fighting could be clearly heard from where they were and they even saw some smoke over its towers. The men tightly gripped their swords, axes and spears, eager to join their companions. Sandor knew the feelings before a battle well- the excitement, the sweaty palms, the heart drumming, the ears thundering; he felt them too. After a few minutes of uncertainty followed by a heavy sound of chains, the big main gate slowly opened.

“Well done boys!” Tormund muttered to himself. He turned his wrist and shook his axe from side to side. “AAAARRRGGGGGG!!!” the man yelled as he threw himself in a furious ride towards the gate followed by his hundred men.

The wilding’s screams echoed in the night as they ran into the castle and joined the fight. Stranger snorted, squirming nervously between his legs and Sandor had to pull his bridles to keep him quiet. _Hold on friend, now comes our turn_.

“Look, there!” Cerwyn said pointing to the sky, “If my sight isn’t betraying me, I’d bet that these are three beautiful black ravens!”

Sandor clenched and opened his right fist several times, then drew his sword, “Bloody Tormund did it; let us have some fun too!”

He kicked Stranger; the animal knew what was expected of him and broke into a fast gallop toward the keep, followed closely by the five northerners who had waited with him so they didn’t raise suspicions among Bolton’s garrison. Sandor felt his blood running faster, the world blurring around him as he rode. The weight of the sword felt good in his hand and he felt strangely full of life and strength. That was what he had been doing all his life, and damn the gods, but he was good at it. After crossing the gates, he focused on the courtyard in front of him. It was plagued with men fighting, corpses, screams and the fire whose smoke they had seen from outside. A soldier with a flayed man embodied on his front run towards him waving a sword. Sandor lifted his own. The blade cut mail, leather, flesh and bone all the same…

 

 


	24. Sansa

_Please, help us. Let us win this battle so we can finally have peace…_

Her whole body was numb.  Snow burned under her knees and the snowflakes had begun to settle over her hair, yet she remained. It had been four days since Sansa had convinced her brother to let her go pray in the Godswood near the Wall. Four long and restless days since the army had left—since _he_ left. Everything seemed quieter now without the rustling that had accompanied life at Castle Black the weeks before the departure; quieter and emptier than ever. King Stannis remained at the Wall with his family and a great part of his men, Grenn continued training the boys everyday in the courtyard, the wildings that stayed behind continued to rebuild the castle, even dinners went by in the main Hall as usual; but she didn’t enjoy sharing those moments anymore with the rest of the inhabitants of the castle. Her thoughts were for the men she had sent to war, trusting only her word and strategy while she waited behind, and it made her feel in a state of constant unease. She had heard the men speak of the little Godswood beyond the Wall and finally gathered the courage to ask Jon to let her go to pray to the Old Gods of their father.  He had refused at first, arguing that it was too dangerous, but Sansa was stubborn and he had finally yielded. Her escort to the place was worthy of a queen: Four men of the King, four northerners and five wildings, including a spear woman, each group determined to protect their vested interests. Although she was used people who sought to protect her for what she represented and not for herself, it still saddened her. Only Pyp and Satin were there simply because they knew the way.

_Please, protect the men that left to fight for me because they are fighting for the right cause…_

The moment was so like the moment before the Blackwater Bay Battle, a lifetime ago at King’s Landing. Then, she had prayed for the men that were going to die, for her family, for the Imp and even for the Hound. Now, she had no family and no husband to care for, but there were now many men who relied on her, and _he_ was still by her side.

_Please, lead the northerners to victory, so our beloved ones that had died by Bolton’s and Frey’s hands can rest in peace. Protect the King’s men, because although this war isn’t theirs, they are fighting it bravely nevertheless. Protect the wildlings that trusted my word so they can have a new place to live and so they can help us to rebuild the North._

She even prayed for the Night Watch; _Give them strength and courage. Though the rest of the Seven Kingdoms have almost forgotten them, they are still defending this Realm. Take care of my brother, my only sibling left, and ease the burden on his shoulders. He and his men are the only ones keeping us safe from the dreadful horrors that come from beyond the Wall and menace us all. And please, save_ him _. You have already taken all the ones I loved from me. Don’t take him too; don’t let Sandor die far from me. Let him know a better day, let him know what happiness is. Let us enjoy the rest of our lives together…_

“My Lady, we need to go. The snow is beginning to fall heavily,” Pyp finally dared to interrupt her thoughts.

Sansa stifled a sob and finally rose with the help of the boy. She looked around; they were several miles away from the Wall, surrounded by nothing but ancient trees and a thick white blanket of snow, and she realized how far she had gone in a journey that, despite his will, had been in her life. How many women of the Seven Kingdoms had been beyond the Wall, as she was now? How many had tried to achieve such ambitious plans as hers? No one. And she wished with all her heart that the Old Gods were in her favor, as there was no turning back for her.

 

* * *

 

Countless generations of women had gone before her; waiting patiently behind for their lord husbands, their sons, their brothers to return home safe and sound, waiting for a message, a letter, any news from them. Worried and sleepless, they prayed the old gods and the new to keep their men safe. Sansa wondered how her Lady Mother had borne the endless wait for her father to come back from King Robert’s war, then from Balon Greyjoy’s rebellion after that. Lady Catelyn had always been a strong woman before her eyes, never allowing worry to reach her face in front of her sons. Sansa now perfectly understood what she had endured, because she felt the same gnawing fear and anxiety her mother might have experienced. Night and day, the constant knot in her stomach threatened to steal her breath. She lived in continuous concern, sick with worry and unease, wandering Castle Black for a useful task to occupy her time, any escape from the constant fear that she could never see Sandor again.

She began to spend more time with Queen Selyse and her daughter Shireen, a friendless girl that everybody at the Wall seemed to avoid because of the horrible disease that left her face disfigured. She was smart and kind, though her little face inevitably reminded her of a young Sandor, marked for life with those terrifying scars he had used to build walls between himself and the rest of the world. Shireen and Sandor had a very different childhood from her and her siblings… Sansa couldn’t imagine more solitary children than them.

She also tried to occupy her time helping Hobb at the kitchen, watching Grenn and the boys training at the courtyard, visiting the armory and the stables or walking with Jon when his duties allowed him some spare time with her.

Every morning she visited the rookery, waiting in vain for news that still didn’t arrive. Clydas was the black brother in charge of the place, and as he didn’t seem to mind her company she began to extend her visits.  Sansa usually watched him take care of the ravens that came and went with messages for the Lord Commander. Sometimes they talked about the birds or the weather, though most of the time she simply listened to him while he explained the properties of the herbs stored on the shelves, or told stories about Maester Aemon, the previous maester of the Wall and the last of the Targaryen's. She enjoyed his company and the opportunity to be away from the activity of the castle. It was during one of their conversations when Sansa finally dared to asked him to prepare some moon tea for her. She might have been a maiden until a few weeks ago, but she wasn’t so naive not to know the consequences of lying with a man, nor how to avoid them.

Clydas looked surprised by the request before hurrying to his books to seek the combination of herbs the infusion required, finally handing her a little bag. “It’ll be our little secret,” he had promised, winking an eye at her.

“So, I guess I should only drink it with you,” she had replied in the same confidential tone, to the clear delight of the man. While he rushed joyfully to boil some water, Sansa realized how kindness and confidence were the shortest path to a man’s heart. She had instinctively believed it when she was younger, but it wasn’t until she had left the Quiet Isle with Sandor, having the opportunity to be herself with the people she encountered, that she had found confirmation. She had won the respect and love of the Night Watch’s men, the King’s soldiers and even quite a few of the wildings by treating them with respect, listening to them or simply providing levity to their nights with her songs. Love and respect were power, power of a kind that flowed from her naturally. _Cersei was wrong, she had always been wrong._

Those moments served to distract her from her worries temporarily, but as soon as the moment passed her mind flew again to the men that were on the road to fight the battle she had fueled. She wondered where every party was at that particular moment, if the snow would allow them safe passage, if they were well fed. Most of the time her prayers were for all the men that would never return to their homes. War had taken her family home, and war should return it to her.  While she wished for another way, it was clear that this was her only chance. _It has to work. It has to work…_

* * *

During the day Sansa waited patiently for events to develop as planned, but it was at night, in the loneliness of her little room, when she finally allowed her anguish to flow. She missed him, night and day. She missed him _so_ badly that sometimes she wondered how it was possible to live without him by her side. His absence left a hole inside of her, as if someone had torn out a piece, leaving her incomplete, unfinished. Though she tried to maintain an air of confidence before her people it somehow felt wrong to be breathing and smiling, and chirping words of courtesy, when Sandor was risking his life for a cause that had little enough to do with him. She couldn’t even think of the possibility of him failing to return to her. What importance would recovering Winterfell have if she couldn’t share it with him? Who would care about her if he was gone? Who would keep her safe, hold her when she felt tired, or comfort her in his arms?  Sansa had no regard for the rest of her life if she was unable to share it with him.  Her mind reeled with worry in the quiet of the night. 

 _Come back to me, please, you have to come back…_ was the litany she prayed every night.

It wasn’t until the seventh night that she finally gathered the courage to reenter the cell that had been Sandor’s room during his stay at the Wall.  Nothing remained to remind that he had ever lived there, save for an old shabby tunic that he left thrown over the back of the only chair in the room. She took it and rubbed the rough fabric with trembling fingers until she had to sit down the cot. _Oh Sandor, what am I going to do if you leave me?  How could I keep going without you?_ She cried to the night, clutching the cloth to her chest as hot tears reached her eyes. She lay on the bed, curled where they had loved for the last time, dreaming he was there again with her, enclosing her tight between his strong arms and caressing her hair in that clumsy way he did to reassure her. _I miss you so much… Please, be safe… Fight, make them fear you, make them respect you, take back my home, but come back to me again. We still have so much to live for, so much to discover, so many things to enjoy… and I don’t want to do any of it without you. Let me fully reach the man I know you are, we still have so much to learn together… Give me a chance to make you happy, to soothe day by day, little by little, your fears, your anxieties. Let me build a place for us that you can call your home, where we can spend the rest of our lives caring and loving each other. I don’t mind how high my birth is or how low yours is, I don’t care about alliances, or politics or blood lines, I’ll find a way to get it. I just want you to be the last person I see every night before falling asleep and the first one when I wake up every morning. Show me what you like about women in bed, what arouses you, what words you like me to whisper in your ear when you’re making love to me, or how I should touch every part of your body to make you shiver and turn you on. I never thought that would happen to me, but I’ve fallen madly and irrevocably in love with you. Maybe I’d never stop being a silly little bird, dreaming about true knights and believing in true love. We deserve it Sandor, we deserve it as much as anyone else does and I’m going to fight for it. But for this to happen, I need you to survive and come back to where you belong: next to me…_

 

* * *

 

“This is amazing Jon…” Sansa whispered breathless as she walked next to her brother on top of the Wall, the only place she had yet to visit. Ghost walked silently before them, running forward from time to time just to come back to play between their legs. Despite the cold and her troubled mind, she had to admit that the view she was now contemplating was one of the most spectacular her eyes would ever see. Once again, she wondered how many women had had the opportunity to experience what she was living.

“Everything that reaches your eye north of the Wall is the Haunted Forest, and beyond it lie the Lands of Always Winter.” Jon explained to her, “And if you look south, you can see the North, the lands of Winterfell’s dominion.”

Sansa looked south intently, as if trying to make out the keep on the horizon, “I’m very worried Jon, it’s already been ten days since they left and we still don’t have any news…”

“I know it’s hard to wait, but it’s still soon. Such large groups of men usually ride slowly and there are many miles to cover between Castle Black and the Dreadfort, and even more to Winterfell. You must keep hope, Sansa. Also, if anything had gone wrong, I’m sure we’d already know, believe me.”

She sighed, trusting with all her heart in her brother’s words, and interlaced her arm with his as they continued walking. “I hope you’re right… There are days when I find simply waiting here completely unbearable.  I feel idle and useless and also…” the words died on her lips before saying them.

“You miss him, don’t you? Clegane.”

Sansa nodded, surveying the vast lands spread before them, unable to look him in the eye. “I still can't believe he has gone to fight for something he doesn’t care about, even if it’s to help me. There were plenty of men for that mission; he should have stayed here with me, where I really need him.”

“I see that despite how smart you’ve proven yourself, you still don't understand him, my pretty, stubborn sister,” the Lord Commander replied to Sansa’s surprise. “Don’t you see that he needed to lead that assignment to earn his place next to you? Who is he to your bannermen but a former Lannister man? To them, he has nothing but your trust in him and a sword. And to their eyes it’s not enough to make him worthy of you.  Sansa, he has gone to fight for you and just for you, to win your men’s respect on the battlefield, where a man defines himself. Only that way could he remain next to you in Winterfell if that’s what the gods have decided. Your men have gone to war to get revenge, to earn new land or to bring peace to the North. Clegane is fighting simply to win you.”

She let her brother’s words slowly sink into her mind, “But he didn’t need to do it, he had already won me…”

“Unfortunately, that is not enough in our society,” Jon continued, “He is still too lowborn to have a special place by your side. I’m sorry, Sansa, but I fear there are things that will never change.”

“I guess so… Jon, how long do you think it will be until the northern houses begin to vie for my hand? What will I do then?”

“If you rebuild Winterfell, it won’t take long. In fact, I’m surprised that you’ve managed to get so far in your quest without a betrothal!”

“I won’t do it. I’ve already been married to someone I didn’t love, I won’t let it happen again.”

“So, what are you going to do when your bannermen ask for a Stark heir? You’re the last one of our family.”

“I’ll have children, but with someone of my own choosing.”

Jon stopped looking gravely at her, “You are aware that you can’t marry him, aren’t you? They won’t let that happen.”

“But what is life worth it if we can’t spend it with our loved ones?  You’ve loved someone you shouldn’t, brother.   I’ve heard the stories about… her…”

Then it was Jon who had to glance away. His face saddened, suddenly overwhelmed by his memories. “Ygritte,” he finally muttered.

“Who was she?”

“She was… she looked…” he shook his head trying to find the words to describe the woman he once loved, “she taught me to watch the world with other eyes. With her, I learned to question what I’d believed my whole life. And I’m still learning, Sansa, because she was right, there are so many things I don’t know yet…”

“What happened to her?” she dared to ask softly.

“She died in my arms the day the wildlings attacked Castle Black. You’re the first person who has asked me about her since then. To the Night Watch she was just another dead wilding, one who made me break my vows, but for me…” his voice broke, “I still wondered if I did the right thing leaving her…”

“I’m really sorry Jon,” she said as she put a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Maester Aemon told me once that love was our great glory and our great tragedy, and I tell you, my memories of her will be with me for the rest of my life…”

The Lord Commander nodded sadly, lost in his memories and Sansa thought about how hard and lonely the life her brother had chosen was; a life of dedication to the Realm, always setting aside his own feelings. She stepped closer and embraced him.

“So you know Jon,” she whispered softly, “Even if love isn’t in our plans, if it’s meant to be, it happens all the same…”

He returned the embrace and they gave comfort to each other until they resumed their walk.

 

* * *

 

It had been twenty days when the first raven addressed to Sansa Stark arrived at Clydas’ rookery. She was there with him, as every morning, when he man handed her the small roll of paper with trembling hands after reading her name. She took a seat before unrolling it, fearing and hoping about its content mixed at the same time.

 

_Lady Sansa,_

_It has been a week since our army arrived at the surroundings of Winterfell. As planned, we didn’t camp close to the castle, so as not to raise suspicion, but we do have the keep closely watched night and day. Four days ago our men saw a raven arriving at Winterfell, though we didn’t know where it came from or what it conveyed.  The next day three riders came from the Dreadfort: a wilding, Ryswell and Sandor Clegane. Bolton’s castle has yielded, my lady. The party lead by Clegane and our brave northerners took it several days ago with the help of the wildings, as you had said. They have freed the prisoners of its dungeons and sent there the few of Bolton’s men whom survived the assault. Clegane says Tormund has taken control of the Dreadfort and it’s secure. The raven we saw must be one of the last ones they were able to send asking for help from Roose Bolton. Through our spies, we know that there’s movement inside the castle walls so we hope Bolton’s forces will leave soon to retake the Dreadfort as you predicted.  Ser Robert Penrose sent a message reporting that King Stannis’ knights are posted on the road to the keep, far enough so the Bolton forces can not run back to Winterfell when our men attack them. Clegane is staying here to help with the attack of the castle. He arrived here exhausted and completely covered in blood; I bet the man hadn’t had a moment of rest after the Dreadfort battle. Our men still fear him, but there is no doubt that he is a great warrior and that the man is as eager as any to fight for Winterfell. He is already organizing the party that is going to lead the attack on Winterfell as soon as the main gate opens. Until then, we’ll be ready, waiting for the sign to take the castle back for whom it belongs._

_My Lady, I think the gods are in our favor to win this war. Please pray to the old gods to give courage to our men so that everything happens as planned and we can finally bring peace to the North._

_Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbor_

 

 _He is alive,_ Sansa’s first thought was, _he is alive!_ After a big sigh of relief, she focused on the rest of the content of Manderly’s letter; her plan, _their_ plan, was working; they had already taken the Dreadfort. That important victory would weaken Roose Bolton and his bastard son. She felt also proud of Tormund and his men; they had kept their word and had fought by her side, and now they were enjoying a well-deserved victory. _Well done Tormund, if everything works out you’ve earned your land and we all can finally have some peace._

“Clydas, how long does it take a raven to fly from Winterfell to the Wall?” she asked.

“Ummm, with this weather and the snow… I’d say five days at least.”

It was at least five days since lord Manderly wrote to her, but what had been happening during that time? Had Roose Bolton left the castle? Had the King’s men attacked them? Without a clue as to what had happened since the raven flew,  her fears began to rise again _. I can’t stay here anymore; idle as an old woman while they are out there fighting for me. I need to do something!  Even if everything fails, I need to see Winterfell once more_.

“Please, give me ink and paper,” she asked the black brother, “I need to send a raven.”

 

_To Lord Manderly._

_My Lord, receiving news from you has heartened me as nothing else could. The fall of the Dreadfort is a great victory, the first we have to achieve in order to win this war. I’m so proud of all our brave men! They are always in my heart and in my mind. Tell them I have prayed for them every day since you left to fight, and that I’m certain that the old gods will support our cause because it is the right one. Tell them also that I’m going with them. I’m aware of what we agreed, however, I can’t wait here any longer, not when they are risking their lives for me. Maybe  by myself am not much help, but I’ll bring with me as many northern men and wildings as wish to join me in my journey to Winterfell.  Maybe my presence will bring strength to their hearts. Don’t let them think for a single moment that I have forgotten them. My place is now with them._

_Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell_

 

She was certain her brother wouldn’t like the idea, but what else could she do? Waiting endlessly wasn’t an option, not now that she knew they were so close to their goal. She took Manderly’s letter and held Clydas’ hand for a long moment before running to the Lord Commander’s chambers.

 

* * *

 

Early in the morning of the next day, Sansa was on the road again, heading to Winterfell. Jon had been against the idea but yielded to her determination.  Determination was something she now shared with the rest of her family. Since she was now precious to the different factions involved in the war, it hadn’t been difficult to convince some of the men to accompany her. They had packed as quickly as possible and were ready to leave before sunrise. Saying goodbye to her brother and the men of the Night’s Watch who had welcomed her when she had nothing and was nobody had almost broken her heart. _I’ll see you again_ , she had promised. Sansa would never forget the time she had spent at Castle Black, but now her place was elsewhere.  Her place was at Winterfell, with her men and with Sandor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. This chapter has some hints that will be important in next chapters ;) Also, the story is finally coming to an end, so hope you like how it closes. Don't forget to tell me your opinion and thanks for reading :)


	25. Sansa

 

The journey south to Winterfell was nothing like the last time she was on the road on their way to the Wall.  She now slept in a little tent that the men prepared for her every evening instead of the hard ground and there was enough food for everybody.  The fifteen men that travelled with her protected her night and day avoided anything that could put her in danger.  While Sansa knew she should feel more than satisfied about how her situation had improved, a little part of her mind couldn’t relax. It took four sleepless nights in her tent to realize that no matter how many loyal men surrounded her, there would be no safe place for her without Sandor by her side.

There had been no news since she sent the last raven and they left Castle Black and her mind spun trying to figure out what had happened since Manderly wrote the last letter. Had Roose Bolton left the Castle?  Had the battle already have taken place? Had the northerners received her letter telling them she was on her way? Although above all, she wondered about him. Sandor was never far from her thoughts and she took strength from his memory, she forced herself to remember that he was one of the best warriors of the Seven Kingdoms and that men like him couldn’t be easily killed.  He had told her he would come for her. _I_ _’ m_ _keeping my promise Sandor, now keep yours and stay alive. I_ _’_ _m coming..._

After eight days on the road, her little group was finally discovered. One of the men that lead the party shouted the alarm about riders coming on their way and the fifteen of them surrounded Sansa in order to protect her, ready to fight. She took her hand to a dagger she hid between her clothes; she may not be a soldier, but she had lived through too much to let anyone attempt to harm her without fighting back. _At least this is better that a stone_ she mocked herself, remembering the day the Night Watch had found them next to Castle Black and she had grabbed the first thing she could find as a weapon from the ground. They held their breath, jaws clenched and blades until the first banner was within sight. The white mermaid of House Manderly billowed in the air, followed by the battle-axe of House Cerwyn and the three sentinels threes of House Tallhart. Sansa ordered the men to release their weapons as the riders approached.

“Lady Sansa, my Lord received your letter and sent us to meet you two days ago. I’m glad that we have finally found you”, the Manderly man that lead the group explained, “Have you had any problems along your journey?”

“We didn’t, thank you. But please, update us as to what has happened since my last raven. I received news of the fall of the Dreadfort, but that was the only raven that has arrived at Castle Black” Sansa inquired.

“So you have yet to hear about the ambush Stannis' men prepared forLord Bolton?”

“I fear I don’t, but please, tell us everything!”

“Lord Bolton’s forces left your castle five days after Lord Manderly’s last wrote you. We sent a raven to warn Ser Robert Penrose, who took them by surprise a day’s ride from Winterfell. The battle was bloody, but King Stannis’ men fought bravely and in the end victory was theirs. Roose Bolton died in the combat, my lady,” the man told her with a smile of satisfaction on his face.

“What about Winterfell?” Sansa asked with her heart in her throat, fearful of what the answer could be.

“Our forces attacked the moment no Bolton forces were seen in the distance. We’d been preparing for days so it was a quick movement. Your man Clegane lead the attack and I tell you he looked like a creature emerged from the Seven Hells riding on that beastly horse of his. Our men followed him, encouraged by the words on your letter and the need for revenge for their families. Only Freys and northern traitors remained in the castle, and though they didn’t expect any attack, they resisted and the fight was fierce. That was barely a day ago, my Lady, but now the keep is ours. Winterfell will be again home for the Starks.”

Sansa listened silently for Lord Manderly's man to finish his story. Roose Bolton dead. Winterfell again in Stark hands… she could hardly believe it.

“Lady Sansa, your men are waiting for your arrival at our camp. Winterfell has yielded, but there are still decisions to make about prisoners and lands before we can have true peace. Will you allow us to escort you?”

She cleared her throat before speaking again, mouth dry and head spinning from the news, “Yes please, take me to my home.”

 

* * *

 

It took less than two day’s ride before they could make out the impressive outline of Winterfell’s walls on the horizon. _This is it_ ; Sansa thought, _the moment I_ _’_ _ve been waiting on for so long…_

One of their riders had gone ahead to warn the main Lords of her arrival and so they were already waiting for her. The surroundings of the castle were a makeshift camp where soldiers were still celebrating the victory drinking and laughing, between the cries of the wounded. The main Northern Lords welcomed her in Manderly’s big tent, and she thought of how different this time was from the first time she walked into that same tent to talk with the high Lords outside the gates of Castle Black.  It seemed a lifetime ago.

“Lady Stark, I’m proud to offer you this great victory!” Lord Manderly approached her smiling, “Thanks to your strategy the North will rule itself again.”

“I want to congratulate you, my Lords, for such a great victory,” she replied looking around for a certain face that still couldn’t find, “Believe that memory of this day will remain in my heart for the rest of my life. Songs of what have happened these days will no doubt be written throughout the Seven Kingdoms!”

Sansa took a seat among the lords as they gave details of the attack. There had been plenty of loss on both sides, though the Freys had taken the worst of it. The survivors were made prisoners and now filled Winterfell’s dungeons waiting for a sentence. The northern lords were in favor of executing all prisoners to satisfy their thirst of vengeance, but Sansa disagreed.

“Too many men have already perished and I fear that the Kingdom will need more hands in the years to come. Give the prisoners the chance to choose between execution or joining the Night’s Watch. The Lord Commander will make good use of them. Winter is coming and my brother needs as many men as possible to protect us.”

“It will be done as you say, my Lady”, Lord Manderly said.

“Tell me, my lords, what has become of Ramsay Snow?”, she asked.

“Dammit, I wish I’d killed him with my own hands!” Lord Tallhart exclaimed, “We found the bastard dead in the kennels. He had a knife stuck in his chest, although that wasn’t what killed him. It was the dogs. The animals tore him apart so badly that he was barely recognizable. The scene was sickening!”

“And Sandor Clegane?” Sansa finally gathered the courage to ask.

“Clegane and his party led the attack and since the battle finished they are looking for any man that may have fled the castle and could still be wandering around. I guess they’ll return when they make sure there area surrounding Winterfell is rid of Freys and Boltons.   Would you like to visit the keep now, my Lady?”

Sansa sighed with relief at the news. _He is alive, alive! We will soon be reunited!_ The Old Gods had answered her prayers… but he men were still waiting for _her_ answer. Did she want to visit Winterfell now? There was nothing that she desired more, though somehow it felt wrong to enter her home again without Sandor by her side.

“I think that moment should wait until all our brave men have returned, my Lords. Until then, I would like to visit the camp to congratulate our men,” she replied instead.

She walked among the soldiers for hours, talking to them, inquiring about the fight and visiting the wounded. She even stopped to pray for the fallen with a group of soldiers. It was difficult but very gratifying and she didn’t regret having done it first. That was her duty now, to support and help the men who had just returned her to her home.

Sansa was resting in Manderly’s tent when the search party finally returned. There was a great uproar as the men rode into camp to report the Lords about their mission. She thought her heart was going to stop beating as she rose with the main lords to welcome the soldiers. She exited the tent slowly and looked nervously for a friend’s face among the new soldiers that had just arrived. She spotted Stranger first, then lifted her eyes to his rider. Sandor approached riding slowly and leading the rest of the party. He looked imposing and fierce, towering over everyone and everything around, covered in blood, dust and sweat after so many hours of relentless fighting. Sansa felt as if her legs were going to fail her when their eyes met, her hand fluttering to her mouth to suppress a cry. When he dismounted in from of the tent, there was nothing she wanted more than to run to him and throw herself into his arms and cry, cry and cry while he held her in his big strong arms and brushed her hair until she was calm again. She stepped forward to him, but an imperceptible shake of his head reminded her that it was not the time or place.  As the new Lady of Winterfell she needed to keepup appearances, at least for a little longer.

“The surroundings are clear now.  Most of the craven bastards ran as soon as they had the chance. We ran faster though, and sent most of them to the Seven Hells to give our regards to Roose Bolton,” Sandor told them among the laughs of his companions, “We’ll do another search on the morrow.”

“Well done Clegane!” Manderly exclaimed, “I hope those were the last Freys we’ll see in the North!”

“Thank you,” Sansa managed to say. Her words were meant for all of them, but her eyes couldn’t help but return once and again to Sandor _._ _How has it been possible to keep breathing all this time without you?_ she thought. “I owe you everything…”

Sandor bowed his head and retreated until she lost sight of him among the crowd of men.

The sun was low when she was finally prepared to cross the gate of Winterfell. Many men had preceded her during the last two days, not only during the battle but also after it, clearing the castle of corpses and preparing everything so the castle could be finally inhabited. However, the Lady of Winterfell’s return had special symbolism for the northerners.  The return of the Starks where they had always belong - to their ancestral home - represented the first step in rebuilding the way things should be in the North. Sansa demanded that Sandor Clegane escort her first walk around the fortress.  She was aware that it probably wasn’t the most cautious decision, but she had not returned to Winterfell because she had been cautious, but because she had been brave. There were only praises for him among the men and even among the Lords; everybody spoke of how he had led in battle, with a fierce and unmatched courage. His fearless behavior had allowed her to grant him the privilege of accompanying her.  She was certain she wouldn’t be able to do it without him be her side.

They walked into Winterfell followed by a safe distance by high northern Lords and their men, her mind flooded with memories of lost happy times.

“I can’t-I can’t do this…”, she whispered, her breast rising and falling with apprehension.

“Hells, of course you can!” Sansa heard him rasp over her shoulder, “You haven’t arrived here to stop at the door. Come on little bird, I’m right here with you.”

Winterfell was full of the ghosts of days long past.Slowly they approached the courtyard, and suddenly Robb and Jon where there, training with their wooden swords under the watchful eye of Ser Rodrik Cassel. She toured the stables, and Arya was running through them like a thunder, her hair a mess and covered in mud followed by baby Rickon. Sitting on the stairs were Jeyne and a twelve-year-old Sansa, talking about knights and songs.  High up the castle wall was Bran, climbing to the sky as he loved to do, and a moment after, their mother was scolding him to come down before he fell. She knew that her father would be at the godswood, cleaning his Valyrian sword... Sansa tried to continue but everything was blurred.  She stumbled and Sandor had to grab her forearm to help her balance. It took her a few seconds to realize she was crying.

“Not now Sansa. They are watching you,” Sandor muttered waving his head at the rest of the men, “You’re strong, and that’s what you have to show them. There will be time later to cry.  I promise to wipe everyone of those tears with kisses and to hold you while you mourn, until you fall asleep if necessary, but not now.”

She finally lifted her eyes to him, realizing where she was and what was expected of her in that moment, “Thank you, Sandor…” she whispered just for him.  Forcing a smile, she turned back to face the high northern Lords and their men. “Thank you my lords. Thank you for being with me in one of the happiest days of my life”.

 

* * *

 

Many hours later, she walked to her chambers to rest. There had been a great dinner at the Main Hall to celebrate the victory and Sansa had accompanied them for some time, until exhaustion took her and she expressed her wish to retire. Walking along the long corridor on the main floor, she recognized the door of the room she had shared with Arya. A bit further, it was Bran and Rickon’s room, and then Robb’s. _A ghost corridor_ , she thought bitterly. When she finally arrived at her parent’s former chambers and opened the door, the room was already warm. She noticed someone had lit a big fire in the fireplace. There were new furs over the big bed and a bathtub waiting for her. Without touching anything, she undressed herself, stepped into the bathtub and let herself sink into the warm welcoming waters. It was still hard to believe that she was at Winterfell again, the only place she had ever been happy, surrounded by people who would protect her at all cost, far from all her enemies… She knew she should be happy, but the memories of people she loved who would never return to Winterfell filled her with sorrow and an overwhelming sadness. Sitting in the tub, she pulled her legs to her chest and, hugging them, she hid her face in her knees to finally vent her grief …

That was how Sandor found her long after; shivering in the already cold water, sticky tears covering her cheeks. She felt him enter the room and cross to the tub with heavy steps.  He lifted her out of the tub to cuddle in his arms like a child.

“Come on Sansa, you’re going to get ill,” he said gently as he sat on the bed and wrapped her in his cloak; “You’re home, little bird, you’re home.”

She grabbed his tunic and pressed herself against his chest. He had taken a bath too, but still smelled of the snow she so much loved - of home, of family. “Please, don’t ever leave me Sandor,” she muttered as a heavy fatigue filled her eyes after so many hours awake, “I couldn’t bear it.  I don’t want to live here without you.”

He chuckled softly, “How could I? You’re my life now.” He kissed her forehead and brushed her wet hair from her face, and she smiled against his chest, _I_  ' _m his life_ was Sansa’s last thought as he lulled her gently to sleep.

When she woke up, he was still there next to her, lying on the bed with her curled by his side. She blinked to be certain it wasn’t another dream, but he awake and turned to her when he felt her moving.

“Do you feel better?” he asked, and she wondered when that rasping voice of his became her favorite sound in the world.

She nodded rubbing her swollen eyes, “What time is it? I feel like I’ve been sleeping for years…”

“There is no light yet.”

“So, you still don’t have to go?”

“No”, he replied with a twisted smile while he engulfed Sansa into his arms. She felt his body flushed against her, realizing she was completely naked save for the tunic around her and blushed, “I can also get naked if you want, so we’ll be equal,” he whispered mischievously in her ear. She didn’t feel ashamed of her body’s reaction to his hot breath on her neck. Their lips met in a long, deep kiss - a kiss they had been waiting on for too long.

“What if someone comes?” she said, separated just enough to take a breath.

“Don’t worry, I gave orders to your men to watch the corridor and not to allow anyone to disturb you until you leave your chambers. So I guess you’re mine for now.”

Sansa smiled widely at him and kissed him again as he pulled the cloak from her body and she helped free him of his tunic and breeches. They kissed and touched unhurriedly for a long time, discovering each other’s body shamelessly, as if it was the first time, trying to learn the other little by little, kiss by kiss, touch by touch. As he muttered a panting _I love you_ in her ear before coming inside of her she realized that Winterfell would truly be their home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, killing Ramsay Bolton has been one of the many pleasures this story has given me :P  
> [Picset](http://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/640x480q90/673/FydeRr.jpg)  
> UPDATED July 2016: I wrote Ramsay's dead more than a year before the show aired S06E09, so somehow I foreshadowed his dead!


	26. Epilogue I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten months later...

To the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.

_Dear Jon,_

_I hope this letter finds you well as it’s been long since I last had news from you. As promised, I’m sending you some of my men with a shipment of supplies, weapons and clothes. I’m aware it’s not much, and this is only a small part of the help you need at the Wall, but we are still rebuilding here and unfortunately still lack resources. However, I  have hope that it is the first shipment of many more to come. It has only been a month that the orchard produced it’s first harvest. It was a small harvest, but watching it grow delighted us all and I want you to share our delight. Please, share them with your men and tell them that Winterfell will never forget the Night’s Watch. Among the provisions there is also parchment and ink for Clydas and some special herbs for Three Finger Hobb.  I trust he will put them to good use in seasoning your meals. Wrapped in a woolen cloth you’ll also find a special sword for Grenn. I hope you don’t mind; our smith has been working without rest for the last months, and now that our weapons have been restored he has begun to forge new ones. It was Sandor’s idea to order a new sword for Grenn to replace, in his own words, “that stinking rusty sword of his with which he couldn’t even train a nursling”. As you see, some things never change. The man accompanying the party is Doreon The Bard. I hired him last week for a little entertainment at the main hall, and since all of us enjoyed his songs, I retained him for your entertainment as well. I know you have very few distractions at Castle Black and since I can’t sing to you anymore I thought your men would enjoy him. Do you know there is already a song about me? It’s called The Wolf Lady and it’d be pretty good if it half of it was true. But, what song is anyway? I hope you enjoy Doreon as much as we did. Please know that I could never forget my days at Castle Black and the people I met there.  I’ll be forever in your debt._

_It seems that Queen Selyse and Princess Shireen have gotten used to their new life at Winterfell. The Wall wasn’t place for them and I’m glad King Stannis asked me to provide host for them at Winterfell. It’s nice to have some female company around. As we still don’t have a maester, Shireen is teaching little Rickon to read and write. You should see them together; she is so patient and kind and he looks at her as if she were the smartest person in the Seven Kingdoms. When he is not learning to hold a sword he seeks her out to play. Selyse has begun speaking of betrothals and alliances between our two families but I won’t hear of it. When Rickon is a man grown he can decide whom he wants to marry, and if he chooses Shireen I’ll be the first to celebrate. I won’t decide our brother’s fate as it happened to me._

_Little Rickon…you should see him now, how tall he has grown. I still marvel every time I watch him at the courtyard, can’t still believe he’s here with us. The day he crossed Winterfell gates with Osha I thought my heart would flee my chest. Remember when I wrote you that Theon Greyjoy had said that our brothers were still alive? You didn’t believe him, as no one in Winterfell did. Everybody thought it was a lie to avoid a certain death, but some instinct told me to trust his words. We found him and Jeyne Poole in the dungeons among the rest of the prisoners of the battle, cleaved to each other in the corner a cell, so terrified of us…Jon, if you had seen him then you would have pitied him as I did. He isn’t anymore the boy that grew up with us; he looks old and lives constantly in fear. I think he and Jeyne were badly tortured during their time with Bolton’s bastard, though neither of them dares to speak a word about it. Since the day of Theon’s release I have wished against all hope that he was telling the truth, that the news of my return to Winterfell would reach our siblings in hiding, and that they would finally return home. It has been three months since Rickon’s return and I’m still at loss to explain how happy his presence makes me._

_Jeyne and Theon are inseparable now. I allow them to share a room next to mine and Rickon’s.  Theon now helps in the kennels as he is very good with the dogsand recently has begun to train with the bow again. As Ramsay’s Bolton widow, Jeyne is the true heir of the Dreadfort but the idea of living in that terrible place scared her so much that she spent a whole week locked in her chambers crying after we told her. After doing some research and consulting with you and our high lords we came up with the agreement for  Tormund to run the keep and manage the lands as Jeyne’s castellan while she remains as its true owner. I believe this plan serves all involved and allows me to fulfill my debt with the Free People. Jeyne helps me at my chambers and she is slowly recovering joy. She has suffered so much since the last time I saw her at the Red Keep and there is nothing that I wish more than to help her and ease her fears. Sandor recently visited the Dreadfort and reports that Tormund and his men are doing well with the castle and the lands around.  If something or someone menaces our Kingdom they’ll fight by our side to defend it, because now this is their land too._

_So a bastard’s widow, a crippled prince, Free People, a queen and a princess without a Realm, a former Lannister man, a wild little Stark, brothers of the Night’s Watch…this is our family now, Jon. Winterfell has become a place of shelter for orphans, widows and people with nowhere to go. I gladly opened our doors, and my heart, to all of them. If there is anything I’ve learn these past years, it’s what it feels like to have nowhere to go. Now that I rule this castle andam proud to call it home, I’ll not allow someone I care about to go without a roof over his head and a proper meal before going to rest at night._

_As for Sandor, he is doing quite well. He hasn’t been idle since the day we first took the castle. At the beginning the men feared him and his harsh moods, but as months have passed he has earned the respect of everyone at the keep. Little happens without him knowing it and his lessons in the yard remind me of when we were still at Castle Black and he helped Grenn and the new recruits.  We couldn’t have a more skilled master at arms. He works hard and there is no doubt that he has earned his place at Winterfell. I think…I think he is happy here. He has never said so, of course, but I feel it in the way he works and how he leads himself with the villagers and soldiers. It makes me happy, too. A year ago we were two orphans wandering the road to the Wall, looking for refuge like the people who seek us now. And now we have built a home at Winterfell. I know he feels that way about it, and for me…well, for me, he is my home._

_I’d like very much for you to visit us, Jon. I know you have much to do at the Wall, and that your men need you, but we need you too. I miss you so much! I want you see Winterfell again, and to see Rickon.  It would be good for you to take a rest from your duties before fighting the menace beyond the Wall.  Bring Grenn, Pyp and some of the boys with you, for they also need something to brighten their spirits. Our gates will always be open for the Night’s Watch.  Please write back with news of your arrival. Please, I miss you so._

_Your sister,_

_Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell_

 

 * * *

 

Sandor found her at the Godswood. She liked to spend time there, among the scary trees.  Though he hadn’t liked the Godswood when he first arrived at Winterfell he had grown to enjoy the silence and calm it provided. It was almost the only place in the castle that allowed them to spend some time alone.  Sandor found her sitting on a huge stone in front of the heart tree, staring at the calm waters of the pool and thought for the thousandth time how she was becoming more beautiful every day. Since those first weeks after they first arrived at Winterfell she struggled with her ghosts, to find her place, to feel comfortable and safe within the walls. He could see now that she had bloomed among the ruins, in the mud and with few resources.  Now a smile was never far from her lips, lightening everything and everybody around her. He watched her working tirelessly; whether in the kitchens, meeting with her bannermen, dealing with merchants or managing the rebuilding of her ancestral home; and he knew she was happy there. Sansa watched him too. She especially liked to attend his lessons in the yard, as she did at the Wall. He often wondered how it could be possible for anyone to miss the warm looks and bright grins she threw his way every time he beat someone. Most times he couldn’t help but to return them. Although his was a disgusting mockery of smile for all others, he knew it wasn’t for her. She made him feel proud, but above all he was proud of her and of what she was achieving.

“You only come here when you’re worried,” Sandor said as he approached her.

She glanced in his direction and moved aside, leaving him space to sit next to her, “I’m not worried.  I’m just…tired, I guess. How was the lesson today?”

“Your little wilding brother finished it with a bleeding nose”

“Oh! What happened?”

“As he wasn’t doing any progress in beating me with the sword, he threw it and charged against me. I don’t know what that wilding woman taught him, but I’m sure that charging with his head against a man ten times his height wasn’t one of them!”

Sansa laughed imagining the scene, “Ah, my beastly little brother, so stubborn and wild.!  Don’t worry, he’ll learn,”she said as she rested her head on his shoulder and handled him a piece of paper.

“What’s this?”

“A letter from Torrhen's Square. Lord Tallhart wants me to marry his son, “she sighed deeply and closed her eyes.   “I’m tired of rejecting proposals…When Rickon came back, I thought this would finally be resolved, but it seems it isn’t. The northern lords already have their revenge, their North, their peace, their Stark in Winterfell. I can’t still understand why they still push for me to marry…”

“Because the man who marries you would hold a lot of power, and that’s something any man desires. Maybe you should marry someone and finally end it. The Cerwyn heir seemed a good boy…”

Sansa lifted her head and stared at him incredulous, “The Cerwyn boy? Sandor, don’t be ridiculous. Look at me and tell me that is what you want.”

He couldn’t, he could never lie to her. _What I want is for it to be me you marry, little bird. To kiss you in front of that tree of yours, to hold you in my arms, take you to your chambers and never let you go because I am yours and you are mine_.

“You already know the answer little bird,”he replied instead.

“So, what do you _really_ want Sandor?”

Her blue eyes pierced his, waiting for an answer, searching the depths of his soul, undoing him. Not for the first time he wondered if she was waiting for him to ask her the same question as all those infatuated men before him had, if she was waiting for her song to be finally completed by him. He wondered if he would have better luck if he ever dared to try.

 

* * *

That night Sandor found her in her room, thoughtfully writing one of the letters that left her fingertips spotted with ink. She enjoyed writing and kept a constant correspondence with her bannermen, with her brother, with Stannis, even with the Dreadfort, although Sandor doubted Tormund could read a single word without the help of a maester. She left her task when she heard him unfastening his cloak. While he undressed, he chuckled at the dazzled expression and foolish smile with which she still welcomed the sight of his hulking body.

“I think your friend knows,”he said, tossing aside his tunic.

“Jeyne? Why do you think so?”

“She just smiled at me, and the cripple Greyjoy wasn’t even close.”

Sansa rose from her seat with an amused smile, closing the space between them.  Sandor surrounded her waist with his hands as she wrapped her arms around his broad neck and regarded him thoughtfully.

“She is just grateful because she knows you take care of me. Who cares if she knows…”

She kissed him and the familiar desire he felt when she was close jolted through him once more. He had been inside her dozens of times since their first time at Castle Black, but his hunger for her had only grown stronger with familiarity. Sansa Stark was one of the most powerful women in the Seven Kingdoms now, and certainly the most desired. But as she had told him once long ago, in his embrace she was just a woman who needed to be cared for and cuddled by someone who simply loved her. And there was nothing he had ever wanted so much as to please, worship and love her.

“Let her smile whatever she wants…”she muttered against his mouth.“Let them say whatever they want…”

Sandor took her to bed and made love to her until she peaked under him and cried out his name.  Exhausted and sated, he hugged her tight against his chest and brushed her back as he knew she liked.

“Are you happy Sansa?”he asked, “Is this what you wanted when you dreamt of Winterfell?”

“I am. Sometimes I feel so…complete that I think I don’t deserve so much happiness. And you, Sandor? Are you happy?”

He hesitated for a moment thinking of an answer, “I hadn’t thought about it before but…”she lifted her head to look at him and frowned, “I guess I’ve been happy ever since the day you arrived at the Quiet Isle to pray for the Hound and made me break that bloody vow of silence.  So aye, I’m happy since you came into my life again. ”

Sansa smiled, tilting her head and squinting her eyes in that way he so much loved. “I love you Sandor,”she whispered staring into his eyes. He cupped her cheek and brushed it with his thumb, “I love you too, little bird.”

 


	27. Epilogue II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt of "The Chronicles of the 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch", by Maester Clydas. 294 AL. Castle Black

All of you may have heard the legendary song,  _The Wolf Lady_ , popular throughout the Seven Kingdoms. I first heard it from the lips of a bard that the Wolf Lady herself sent to the Wall for our entertainment. To this day I remember our enjoyment of his music, and how we didn't allow the poor man to leave the Main Hall until his fingers ached from playing the strings of his lute. Ah, it was a truly great day!

Sansa Stark is now part of history, legends and songs, but I was lucky to befriend her and I can certainly affirm that the stories you have heard don't do her justice. She was an exceptional woman: beautiful, smart and brave; with a gift for diplomacy and an innate kindness toward people. She gathered around her a broken North and included the Free People as her most powerful allies. She faced threats from the Iron Throne and made treaty with the Targaryen Queen when she invaded from Essos with her dragons and her army. Lady Stark ruled over a prosperous and reborn Winterfell, all the while never ceasing to help the smallfolk that lived on her lands.

As she promised, she didn't forget about the men of the Night's Watch either. Lady Stark kept a fluent correspondence with the Lord Commander for many years, and among the many ravens they crossed, she sent word for us as well. I used to read Lady Stark's letters to my brothers after dinner, and the men often left me flustered as they excitedly spoke at the same time about what to include in my reply. I don't believe the black brothers had received that level of concern or respect from any other important person in Westeros before.

She never forgot the Night's Watch indeed. She was the first one to ride to the Wall with her army of northerners and Free People when the white walkers came and Lord Snow called the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms for help - Sandor Clegane and Tormund the Giantsbane by her side. What happened after is history, and you can read of it in many other chronicles of the time.

What you may not be able to read elsewhere is the story of how she came to be married to Sandor Clegane. Her decision had a huge impact on the North, and is still a subject of conversation to this day. Why would such a powerful woman marry her master at arms? Well, if they had been present at the ceremony, as I was, they definitely would have known. A year after the battle of Winterfell, Lady Stark invited us to visit the Castle. It was a huge honor to accompany the Lord Commander to his former home, and an event none of us would ever forget. Grenn, Satin, Pyp, Hobb and I were dazzled by her hospitality and the days we spent there will remain forever in our hearts.

The simple ceremony took place in the Godswood at Winterfell. Clegane put his cloak over Lady Sansa's shoulders, they kissed, we cheered them and celebrated with a nice meal. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen; glowing in the sunset light of the evening. The groom looked as ferocious and scary as always, even in his new clothes. However there was something in the way he looked at his new wife that silently told us every single reason why she chose him above any other man in the Seven Kingdoms. There weren't many guests at the ceremony, and I assure you that we couldn't be any more diverse; lords, Free People, highborn and lowborn alike, black brothers; all of us from very different backgrounds. But on that day we all shared their joy equally and I guess we all were happy, at least for a day.

Now I'm old, and I have forgotten many things. However, I can still remember many others clearly. I remember Lady Stark and Sandor Clegane when they were at Castle Black, her songs and her letters, how he trained with Grenn and the men in the yard, and the sword Clegane later sent to Grenn that he never let go. I remember the Lord Commander smiling when he walked with her, and her shipments of food and fruits and the little gifts for us that she slipped among the goods. I remember each one of the mornings she spent with me at the rockery, waiting for news of the men who had left to fight for her at the Battle of Winterfell. And, above all, I still remember the way they looked at each other in the Godswood, and I know.

People may not believe it, but there are some people that, when together, touch something deep within the other that leave them forever changed. When Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane met again years after the Battle of Blackwater, an overwhelming spark ignited between them, against which both were unable to fight. That unacknowledged spark led her from the Vale to the Wall and, in the end, helped her to achieve all those victories carefully recorded now in history books. However, I that considered myself her friend, I would say without any doubt that her biggest victory was to spend the rest of her life with a person who truly loved her, and whom she truly loved.

Tell me now, how many people in the Realm could say the same?

 

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end of this long journey from the Quiet Isle to Winterfell. It's been a pleasure and also a huge challenge to write this story, and now that I've finished it, I can say that it has only given me good things. This fic is my babe, a story I'd like to read. I've cried, laughed and even struggled with it, I've poured on it all my headcanons about SanSan and their endgame and I've fought to finish it. And this is finally the result of all my work.
> 
> Thank you, my lovely readers, for following me during this time, for taking your time to read, comment, leave kudos and even messages on my tumblr; for cheering me up with your comments on my bad days and for always been so respectful and kind.
> 
> Special thanks to my wonderful betas, Kelly and LadyCyprus, for helping me so much and for making something readable of this text, for your support, friendship and talent. Beta editing a fic is a work of love for the story and the writer and I could never thank you enough for it.
> 
> And thanks to my tumblr Sansan friends for their friendship during this process and for their warm welcoming into this fandom. I've done several good friends because of this story and that is priceless.
> 
> See you on another fic!
> 
> \- Chaouen
> 
> PS: And If you've read till the end and you liked my story, please don't hesitate to leave a kudos ora comment, I'd love to know your opinion! :D


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